


The Ties That Bind Us

by topcatnikki



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anxious Katsuki Yuuri, Arguing, Bad Jokes, Big sister Mari is my jam, But Yuuri is the main offender, Cataclysm, Communication, Completed, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Fate, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Happy Ending, Hasetsu, Living Together, M/M, Phichit Chulanont Is a Good Friend, Phichit is my fav, Pining, Reconciliation, References to Depression, Sharing a Bed, Smut, So much pining guys, Soulmates, True Love, Victor doesn't help much, Victuuri are Dorks, Yurio is my angry son and I love him, Yuuri is his own worst enemy ngl, these boys are idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-02-18 06:37:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 69,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13094499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/topcatnikki/pseuds/topcatnikki
Summary: The Grand Prix Final is over, and Yuuri has nothing to show for it save disappointment and a dead dog.  He would have been happy to hide from his hero for the rest of his life--in fact, he would have liked nothing more--but fate, it seems, has other plans in store.The day it all ends is the day something new begins.   The cataclysm, a paradigm shift of the world around them, occurs once again, and suddenly Yuuri's life is inexplicably entwined with that of none other than Victor Nikiforov... forever? Now, they have to build a new life together, somehow, as the cataclysm sweeps them along in its wake.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! Back again with this monstrosity! Did you miss me??
> 
> So this fic was meant to be my Big Bang fic, but life got in the way and I had to bow out, so you guys get it early!
> 
> It's a fic that means a lot to me, I've worked on it on and off since february and it's been a real labour of love. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I do.
> 
> I'd like to dedicate the first chapter of this fic to Maja and Alexis, without whom I wouldn't have picked up my notebook and continued it from those first few pages. And a huge yelling for Sachiro, whom is the most badass beta and word wrangler known to the fandom. I love you guys, thank you for always inspiring me and cheering for me.

 

Yuuri can remember that day with startling clarity; every moment burned into his memory, the tides of emotions he was swamped by… It stayed with him for years to come. It changed his life forever. It changed  _ him. _

 

For most it had begun as a perfectly ordinary Saturday; for Yuuri it had already been one of the most emotionally exhausting days of his life. There would be few people who wouldn’t remember it. It would be rehashed and wondered over, people finding connection through shared experience, the internet alight with conspiracy and conjecture.

 

But Yuuri?

 

He had failed at the Grand Prix Finals, badly. The nerves had got to him before he hit the ice for his short program, throwing off his landings and dulling his PCS. The news of Vicchan’s passing had only accelerated the downward spiral that had already begun.

 

He had failed at the Grand Prix Final. In front of his fans. In front of the world.

 

In front of  _ Victor. _

 

It was like some sort of karmic joke. He’d humiliated himself thoroughly, let down his family and friends, embarrassed his coach, been cornered in a bathroom by Yuri Plisetsky while caught in the act of mourning his losses- 

 

And then the universe decided to add insult to injury by turning his entire life on its head.  
  


 

* * *

 

When Yuuri had imagined being part of the Grand Prix Finals, it had always been with the aim of taking the podium at the end, not with an underwhelming Short Program and a disaster of a Free Skate. He’d hoped to make himself and his fans proud and, somewhat selfishly, he’d wished he could capture Victor Nikiforov’s attention, even if only for a few minutes. He hadn’t though; he’d failed disastrously and could only hope that Victor  _ hadn’t _ seen him.

 

He’d spent years of his life trying to get here, and all he has to show for it is crushing embarrassment and a dead dog.

 

He’s distracted, Celestino watching helplessly beside him as Morooka passionately denounces the concept of him retiring. He can’t think straight, his mind flitting between Vicchan, his family, and his failure. He just wants to walk away and never look back. 

 

“Yuri-”

 

Yuuri's head snaps up.  _ Victor? _

 

“- about your free skate, your step sequence could use-”

 

_ Oh. _

 

“I won didn’t I, so who really cares?”

 

For one heart stopping moment he imagined Victor had said _his_ name - _knew_ his name \- but he’s mistaken. He could never talk to Victor now, not after failing so badly. He’s staring blankly, Morooka’s words a dull buzz in the background, when Victor catches his eye - and _mistakes him for a fan_. There’s a second of numb disbelief before the crushing sense of disappointment hits him and he feels his face crumpling. 

 

Making the choice to walk away is a lot easier once Yuuri can feel the telltale tightening in his chest restricting his breathing. His shoulders are drawn tense, spine rigid, field of vision narrowing as he turns away. He has to get out of there, get back to the hotel before the panic attack pulls him under and-

 

There’s a rushing sound in his ears as he makes his way through the crowd; his heart feels like it’s trying to break out of his chest through his ribcage and his knees feel curiously weak.

 

His hands feel numb. His face feels tight. Heat is trickling along the length of his spine.

 

He feels a swooping sensation in his abdomen and a sharp pain in the base of his skull that almost brings him to his knees. 

 

Something about this is very, very wrong. 

 

It’s about that moment that Yuuri realises this isn’t a panic attack - his left knee buckles beneath him - and that he isn’t the only person affected. All through the crowded hallway people are doubling over; some grabbing their chests, others clutching their heads.

 

_ What the hell is happening? _

 

Yuuri manages to regain his feet, staggering upright shakily. The pain is intense and his thoughts are tripping over themselves, trying to make sense of what he’s seeing. Around him people are on their knees, some crying, some protesting. He hears Celestino exclaiming, but the rushing sound is intense, building into a howling that makes his head spin. His skin feels constricting, like it’s squeezing him tight; his vision blurs. The swooping in his abdomen turns into a wrenching, dragging pull, insistent and aggressive… And then darkness overtakes him - he can’t breath or see, but he can feel his fingers closing into fists and his nails gripping his skin tightly. It feels wrong. So, so wrong and he wants to scream but nothing is happening, and the darkness redoubling.

 

“Yuuri?”

 

It takes a few moments for his vision to clear, but the abrupt cessation of feeling shocks him into awareness; the pain in his skull has disappeared, along with the burning tightness under his skin. Whatever the hell that just was, it had ripped the air from his lungs; the skin on his palms is stinging angrily with the imprints of his nails where they’d dug into the flesh. He’s bent double, chest heaving and staring at a pair of spotless red sneakers. 

 

“Yuuri! Are you okay?” There’s a careful hand on Yuuri’s shoulder and he clutches at the person's forearm. He can hear the people around him, gasps and shouts mingling in panic. The hands are gentle as they help him upright, the world around him spinning a little as he tries to regain his equilibrium.

 

“Sorry. Sorry, I don't know what -” Yuuri’s voice feels shaky, his tongue heavy in his mouth. It’s an effort to get his voice working again, jumbled thoughts vying for attention. Pulling himself together takes a few seconds of blinking at a red and white jacket, emblazoned with unmistakable Olympic insignia, before he finally processes exactly what he’s looking at. Raising his gaze slowly, he’s met with Victor Nikiforov’s concerned gaze. “...came over me.” He finishes vaguely. 

 

“Yuuri, how did you do that?” Victor is looking at him wide-eyed. Yuuri’s never been this close to his idol before, usually when he’s seeing Victor Nikiforov’s face this close up it’s on a laptop screen or a magazine cover. He’s still clutching Victor’s arm tightly so he drops it and tries to ignore the weight of Victor’s hand on his shoulder. He blinks up at the man for a moment, processing the words seconds too late.

 

“Do what?” He’s still stuck on the concept that Victor Nikiforov knows his name. Knows his name and came to his aid? His head feels floaty, as though he would be carried off but for Victor's firm grip on his shoulder. 

 

Yuuri might be staring. 

 

Okay, he’s  _ definitely _ staring.

 

How had Victor gotten to his side so quickly? They'd been separated by almost the full length of the hallway. 

 

“You moved - no, that's not the right word. Um… transferred?”

 

“What’re you talking about?” Yuuri finally glances away from Victor's curious gaze to the crowd around them. They're getting noisier, the volume pounding in his ringing ears. He wants to sit down, to curl up and let Victor walk away from him, but his hand is still firmly on Yuuri’s shoulder.

 

“Victor! Yakov disappeared! I was talking to him and then he just- What are you doing here, idiot? I thought you were done for the day after your pathetic free skate.” Yuri Plisetsky’s voice changes from panicked to challenging fast enough to cause whiplash. Yuuri only gapes at him, his brain struggling to process not only the change in demeanor, but the words themselves.

 

Disappeared? Yakov had?

 

“What are you talking about, Yuri?” Victor is still supporting Yuuri, he looks around bemused. “Yakov is right here.”

 

But he’s not, Yakov really is gone. He’s gone, Plisetsky claims he disappeared, and Yuuri has no idea what the hell just happened. 

 

“He was lecturing me about my free skate and then he looked sick and then he just…” Yuri makes a vague gesture to where he and Yakov had been standing, his voice raised over the increasing din of the crowd. 

 

Yuuri scans the hallway again, taking in the confusion surrounding him and finally noticing what Victor had been talking about. He’s back where he started, back in the hallway right by where Celestino and Morooka had been attempting to console him. Victor had said he’d moved -  _ transferred _ \- and somehow here he was, standing fifty feet from where he’d been with Victor Nikiforov keeping him upright.

 

Morooka is standing ten feet away looking startled, his bag having slid from his shoulder as he stares at Yuuri. _ ‘Katsuki-kun?’  _ Yuuri sees rather than hears his name on the commentator’s lips. He hurries over to where Yuuri is still clinging onto Victor’s arm, “I just watched you leaving - I saw - Cialdini just vanished…”

 

_ What the HELL? _ Yuuri feels his stomach dropping. There’s an explanation for this, and he thinks it might-

 

“Celestino?  _ And _ Yakov?” Yuri Plisetsky is sheet white. “What the  _ fuck _ ?”

 

“Language, Yuri!” Victor reproaches him mindlessly. “There must be an explanation, people don’t just disappear.”

 

“I  _ watched _ Yakov-” Plisetsky is incenced, gesturing wildly but Yuuri can’t really focus on him because he can feel his breathing speeding up again-

 

“Katsuki-kun teleported!” Morooka points to him, looking shaky. The sudden attention makes Yuuri flinch and his shoulders draw up, his hands are shaking and Victor is watching him with a worried expression. He has to get out of here, he has to get away from Victor and just-  

 

“I need some air.” Yuuri’s voice comes out small in the chaos of the hallway, but Morooka somehow hears his plea. He reads concern and an ebb of apprehension as Morooka carefully pries him from his grip on Victor’s forearm.

 

“It’s okay Katsuki-kun, we’ll get you somewhere a little less…” He fails to finish the sentence as he loops an arm under Yuuri’s and around his back, navigating the hallway. There are people everywhere - stunned into silence, shouting, collapsed on chairs and each other.

 

The exit is only a few feet away; Yuuri’s less than comfortable with Morooka having to haul him out, but the promise of fresh air and the weakness returning to his knees are testament enough that he needs the assistance; he’s in no state to do it himself. They’re close enough for the automatic doors to activate when Yuuri feels it again, the aggressive, insistent tugging at his stomach and heat up his spine; it steals his shaking breath from his lungs. It’s so sudden that Morooka loses his grip when Yuuri’s knees give out, dropping him to the floor.

 

“Katsuki-kun? What’s wrong?” Morooka sounds shocked again; Yuuri is having trouble forming thoughts let alone conversational Japanese. He struggles against the rising tide of panic, he grits his teeth against the pain licking up his skin and pulls in lungfuls of air. He just has to make it out of this place. Whatever this is, it doesn’t hurt as badly as the last time.

 

“I don’t-” He’s panting heavily again. “I need air.” Morooka has to physically pick him up, which is not an easy task. They step toward the exit and the pull at his stomach flares painfully. Another step and Yuuri is moaning in pain.

 

The sound is echoed from behind.

 

“Victor?” Yuri Plisetsky’s voice is loud and frantic, pitched high enough to break through the hubbub of the crowd. “Victor- What the hell is happening?”

 

If Victor replies then Yuuri doesn’t hear it, the pain making it difficult to focus. His head lolls on Morooka’s shoulder and his gaze lands on Victor Nikiforov and Yuri Plisetsky. There are dozens of people in the hallway in different states of distress, but Victor is the only focus for Yuuri. He’s on his knees, chest heaving, fists clenching against the carpeted floor, but it’s his expression that makes Yuuri’s heart lurch uncomfortably in his chest. It’s crumpled into lines of pain, eyes watery as Yuri Plisetsky grabs at his jacket.

 

Morooka takes another step, carefully maneuvering around a crying toddler.

 

Yuuri’s pain peaks so quickly he stiffens in Morooka’s hold and cries out loudly. In the distance Victor’s arms give out. Yuri Plisetsky is on his knees beside his rinkmate, hands pulling at Victor’s shoulders uselessly. Yuuri’s own shoulders are stiff, muscles straining against the the curling fingers of pain radiating from his spine. The pulling in his stomach crackles, his eyesight blurring again, and the vague outline of the Russian skaters move. Plisetsky has somehow managed to get Victor upright, trying to corral the elder skater to a seat. Yuuri can just make out the shine of Victor’s hair in the distance.

 

Morooka sets Yuuri down on the pavement, encouraging him to take deep breaths; Yuuri only nods in answer, trying to pull himself together.

 

It doesn’t work. The pull in his abdomen is vicious now, his back is screaming in protest. His breathing is laboured, head pounding. The pulling in his chest is insistent, a taloned hand with fingers gripping and dragging at him.

 

“Idiot. I need you.” Yuuri resolutely ignores Plisetsky who is stomping his way over in all his teenaged glory, in favour of curling himself around his knees. It hurts. It hurts and that’s all he can focus on right now. “Move your ass!”

 

“He’s in no state to help anyone-” Morooka protests before he has a finger thrust in his face and a wrathful Russian teen to deal with.

 

“Do I look like I give a shit?” Something in his face must have seethed threatening behaviour, because Morooka takes stumbling steps back from the boy, looking fearful. “Help me get this moron back inside. Now!”

 

Morooka looks helplessly at Yuuri, but is greeted only by the dark hair and stiff shoulders of the skater. Yuuri is slightly aware of the exchange, unable to focus, but he feels himself jostled into standing with Morooka and Plisetsky hoisting him up like a dead weight, his feet dragging as they negotiate back through the door to the stadium. Yuuri reflects vaguely that he may never get out of this place at this rate, like some weird infinity loop. He chuckles weakly at the thought, giddy from the pain. 

 

As they move into the cluttered hallway Yuuri becomes somewhat cognizant, the fog in his head clearing enough for his disjointed thoughts to start forming connections. His eyes water as the glaring lights catch his newly restored sight off guard. The pain recedes in waves, the talons that had been dragging at him loosening, and it takes moving less than twenty feet into the stadium before Yuuri is tentatively bearing his own weight, legs finally feeling less jelly-like.

 

Morooka gives him space, dropping out from under his arm and hanging back from the pair. Plisetsky only radiates further discontent while hurrying him along. Yuuri reclaims his case as they pass it after ducking out of Plisetsky’s reach. All the while Yuuri watches as they approach his idol, who sits up straighter, eyes clearing and pain dropping from his features as they approach.

 

Yuuri still feels shaky; he’s got sweat beading in his hairline and the minute quaking in his hands needs covering quick, he shoves the free one in his jacket and redoubles his grip on his case to hide it. He feels ravaged, wrung out as he collapses in a seat beside Victor.

 

Yuuri idly notes that Victor, while ruffled and tousled by whatever the hell had just happened, looks amazing. His hair is in artful disarray, cheeks dusky and eyes gleaming from his sudden and improbable collapse.

 

“Yuuri Katsuki.” Victor grins wryly at him, looking exhausted. “Can I get my photo now?” 

 

Yuuri can only stare in disbelief. Plisetsky launches into a tirade which includes several insults to Victor's character, Yuuri being low on intellect, complaints about Morooka’s overall lack of speed, and wondering where their coaches were. Yakov had not returned, nor had Celestino. The crowd around them had calmed somewhat, people huddled together protectively and some leaving with worried expressions. 

 

“What the hell is going on?”

 

Yuri has finally run out of steam and is glaring at Yuuri and Victor. Yuuri runs a hand down his face tiredly; Victor huffs out a breath and slumps back in his seat. The frowning doesn’t let up while Victor fishes in his jacket pocket, extricating his phone. Yuuri can’t make out the Cyrillic figures on the screen but his preoccupation in deciphering their meaning is cut short by the sudden appearance of Yakov Feltsman’s irate face frowning heavily up at them. Victor swipes the screen, answering the call immediately.

 

Yuuri sinks back into his seat, ignoring the rapid Russian being barked through the tinny speaker. Victor responds quickly, having to raise his voice over the cacophony of voices in the hallway. Yuuri feels himself disconnecting from the action around him, staring dazedly at a spot inches from his feet. The vestiges of his panic have been tamped down by whatever the hell is happening around him, stampeded by the force of the unknown, but he can still feel it in the pull of his muscles and tightness of his chest. 

 

What the hell is happening? He’s still trembling minutely from whatever the force that was pulling at him was, he can feel the uneasiness weighing on him and the weird sense of wrongness that is ringing in his head.

 

His phone pulls him into the present with an incessant buzz, bringing him into full consciousness before he could begin to tackle his current predicament.  _ Mari _ .

 

“Mari.” He’s suddenly wide awake as he answers his cell, the line is crackly but hearing his sister's’ voice calms his rattling nerves, even if she’s sounding a bit panicked.

 

“Yuuri, where are you?” Mari sounds worried.

 

“Um. Sochi?” Yuuri frowns at the question. “Where are you?”

 

“I’m home safe. With Mom and Dad.” Yuuri can’t help the shuddering breath that escapes him. They’re okay. Something had happened but his family was okay. “Yuuri, Celestino called. He couldn’t get you on your cell but he said something about being in Sochi, and Detroit too? He seemed a bit out of it, but kept switching from English to Italian? I don’t know what the hell is going on.”

 

“Me either. It’s crazy. One minute everything was fine, then… It felt-”

 

“Wait - it happ- to you too?”

 

“Yeah, but-”

 

“But you’re still in Sochi?” Mari sounds worried again.

 

“Yes, I am. I-”

 

“But Minako is in Sydney. How are- in Sochi?” The line faded in and out on her words.

 

“Minako is in Sydney? What?!”

 

“She go- a text t-gh, the cell- wers are re- overloaded - we think”.

 

“Yeah, the line is terrible right now. I - Mari, I’m okay, I’m fine.” Yuuri wills it to be true, still hearing Victor and Yuri talking to Yakov on speaker. Morooka had slid away, going to talk to venue staff. “I’m just tired”.

 

“Okay. just ca- if you need us.”

 

“I will.”

 

“Look after yours-  little brother.”

 

“You too.”

 

The minute his call ends, Plisetsky is in his space again, “Who was that? What’s happening?”

 

“Uh - My sister, she was worried about me. Whatever… happened, also happened to my ballet coach, and to Celestino.”

 

“Where are they?” Plisetsky is frowning deeply, worry in every micro expression.

 

“Minako is in Sydney and Celestino is back in Detroit.” Yuuri’s mind reels as he says it, he can’t begin to comprehend what the hell is going on.

 

“Moscow. That’s where Yakov is.” Yuri looks scared under his hard exterior. “His wife has been yelling at him for the last ten minutes.”

 

“Da, Lilia seems less than ecstatic about her husband appearing at their home  unannounced.” Victor is finally off the phone; he huffs out a sigh and runs a hand through his hair. “He’s going to book a flight in the morning. In the meantime, perhaps we should go back to the hotel?”

 

“Fine. Whatever.” Yuri looks relieved; he hurries to where his and Victor’s cases had been abandoned, snatching them quickly and frowning at the pair of skaters behind him. “Well come on then. I need a bath after hauling the pair of you around.”

 

Victor drags himself from the chair heavily; he seems worn out to the point of inelegance by the last ten minutes as he joins Yuri. “Are you coming?”

 

Victor knows his name. Victor helped him when whatever the hell happened - happened. Now, as if the day couldn’t get any weirder, Victor wants to walk to the hotel together.

 

No. Nope. Too weird.

 

“I’m fine, I’ll make my own way, I’m…”

 

“Shut up idiot, you could barely stand ten minutes ago.” Ah, the Russian Punk, as eloquent as ever. “If you want to pass out in a gutter, be my guest. But otherwise you might need help getting your useless carcass to the hotel.”

 

And with no more than a parting grunt, Yuri Plisetsky stomps ahead.

 

“He’s not wrong - you shouldn’t be alone.” Victor is looking a little embarrassed by his rinkmate’s outburst, but his voice is kind as he chivvies Yuuri out of his seat. Plisetsky is waiting by the exit, tapping his foot impatiently. He stalks away again the moment he catches sight of the pair, shoulders in an angry line as he pulls his case along.

 

Yuuri hesitates for a second as they reach the doors, anxiety rearing up and the vague thought of infinity loops pulling him up short. Victor walks straight through without a problem, just as Yuri had before him, sending a curious look back at Yuuri where he hovers.

 

He can do this, it’s only a door. A door he  _ twice  _ failed to get through but a door nonetheless. He’s taken on worse things than a door in the last two days, he  _ can _ do this.

 

Victor is inching towards him.

 

Yuuri puts one foot forward. Then another. His heart is fluttering but he tramps the feeling down as his feet carry him past the threshold.

 

Nothing happens.

 

He lets out a breath he hadn’t even realised he was holding as the cool air surrounds him.

 

And if he speeds up to catch up to Victor, it’s only because he’s looking back at him expectantly.

 

The few streets between the stadium and the hotel are almost deserted. Yuri is still storming ahead, face buried in his hood and ignoring Victor as he calls out to him. Yuuri is silent too, keeping pace with the taller man, but completely at a loss for anything to say to him.

 

Over the years, Yuuri had allowed himself the occasional daydream, the odd imagining of what he would do if he ever came face to face with Victor Nikiforov. Sometimes in his fanciful teenage daydreams he’d blown Victor away with a beautiful skate, other times they had bonded over mutual interests. But this was so far removed from even his worst nightmare. Failing so badly - then whatever the hell had just occurred.

 

Yuuri is so consumed by his ticking thought processes that he doesn’t hear the question when Victor asks it.

 

“I’m sorry?” Yuuri can hear the vague edge to his voice. He needs to stop daydreaming and focus.

 

Victor is frowning at his phone in his hand, but tears his eyes away to repeat the question. “What do you think is happening? The news sites are almost useless, AskReddit is crashing, and Twitter is incomprehensible.”

 

“I have no idea. I mean, one second I was heading back to the hotel, and the next I was...not.” Yuuri can’t bring himself to even think about how it felt. He doesn’t want to talk about his anxious escape, nor the sudden appearance in Victor’s space.

 

“It was the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen.” Victor’s voice is hushed; walking like this, arms brushing, it almost feels like they’re sharing secrets. “You were there and then you fell a bit and then, boom. You were here.” Victor gestures at his face where a sudden smile had bloomed. “For a second I thought it was magic!” The smile broadens, and Yuuri can’t help but return it.

 

“Not a bit of magic in me, sorry. And not even that unique either.” Victor’s face falls. “Well, Celestino, Yakov, and my ballet instructor had similar experiences.”

 

“It still looked like magic to me.” Victor sounds almost petulant.

 

“Hey idiots, hurry up already!”

 

Yuuri takes that as his cue to speed up, the hotel looming on the street corner ahead of Yuri. Finally he’ll be able to just rest, shut out the world and get some much needed sleep. The foyer is unusually crowded as they enter. Yuuri’s glasses fog at the sudden temperature change, he blinks owlishly through the lenses, watching the vague outline of Plisetsky ahead. He follows Yuri, bypassing the harassed looking reception staff as they head for the elevators.

 

Once they’re piled into the mirrored elevator, Yuri Plisetsky drops against the handrail rubbing tiredly at his eyes, looking for all the world like an exhausted fourteen year old rather than the explosive teen he’d seemed before. Victor is hitting the button for floor 12; Yuuri follows suit, hitting his floor number tiredly. It takes less than a minute for them to reach the fourth floor, the lift juddering to a halt.

 

Victor starts fussing at him the moment the doors open.

 

“You’re sure you’ll be okay?”

 

“Yes, I’ll be fine. I just want to sleep.”

 

“If you need anything...”

 

“Victor - “

 

“...I’m in room 1206. Just in case.”

 

“Fine.” The doors attempt to slide closed but Victor braces them. Yuuri can’t even begin to fathom why Victor even cares.

 

“If you’re sure…” Victor looks momentarily conflicted, but lets the struggling doors go. “Goodnight, Yuuri.” The doors finally fall closed.

 

Yuuri doesn’t manage to reply. He feels oddly guilty for dismissing Victor so brusquely, but Victor was...overwhelming. Yuuri should have expected that when he was finally face-to-face with his idol he’d be typically underwhelming, by this point it was almost his trademark. Yuuri watches the lift readout, the floors between them sliding away, and dully considers the fact that no matter how insistent Victor was, Yuuri wouldn’t be calling him. What would he even say? 

 

_ Hi, sorry for collapsing all over you after I publicly snubbed you. _

 

6 . . . 7 . . .

 

_ I’ve looked up to you since I was twelve years old and only dreamed of humiliating myself in front of you like I repeatedly did today. _

 

8 . . . 9 . . .

 

_ I’m not even worthy of breathing the same air as you, but you were kind to me and -  _

 

Yuuri’s abdomen seizes in pain and his knees buckle.

 

He gasps in pain.  _ No. Why the hell - ? _

 

He thinks he can hear muffled shouts from the elevator shaft, but he can’t focus past the dread that’s curling around the edges of the pain; it’s hard and insistent and dragging at him. The pain redoubles, his chest suddenly flaring, painfully hot, heart lurching. It is agony.

 

. . . 12 . . .

 

Vision blacking out, he can’t breathe, the incessant pull in his abdomen travelling to his chest, wrenching his heart forward, upward. His lungs burn.

 

He is on the carpeted floor of the hallway, face contorting, hands scrabbling at his chest - his heart. 

 

It hurts so much.

 

The wrenching becomes an insistent yank. Then a dragging. His vision is clearing again, chest finally free of pain, but unerringly pulling. He has tears on his face. 

 

Then stops. The elevator doors roll open.

 

Yuuri barely scrambles to his knees in time to see the Russian skaters tumble out in a mess of limbs and curse words. Victor is a mess - face sweaty and chest heaving in exertion, Yuri Plisetsky looking furiously at him, Olympic jacket tangled in his fists as he drags Victor out.

 

“Where’s your room?” The question is hissed between enraged streams of indecipherable Russian. 

 

“My room?”

 

“Yes, your room, shithead. Where is it?”

 

“That way.” Yuuri can’t even mutter a protest any more, he just waves a hand in the direction of his room tiredly. Apparently the Russian contingent is entirely too much force to do anything but go along with.

 

Plisetsky immediately drops Victor and makes a beeline down the hallway having reclaimed his case from the elevator that’s being held open by Victor’s left foot.

 

It takes a moment for Yuuri to struggle to his feet. Victor is slumped heavily against the wall, chest heaving, and reaching for Yuuri. He doesn’t hesitate to help Victor upright.

 

“Thank you.” Yuuri nods in acknowledgement. Plisetsky is waiting at the end of the corridor, foot bouncing restlessly and scowling at the pair.

 

“Why are we going to my room?” Yuuri asks vaguely as he pulls his keycard out, he feels wrung out and exhausted. He’s aware of the Russian skaters trailing behind him while they head to the room. He haphazardly manages the lock, fumbling the handle before Plisetsky shoulders him aside.

 

“We’re getting your shit and you’re coming with us. You pair of idiots are barely standing and I’m not carrying you around all night so grab your crap, moron.” He throws himself into an armchair, still aggressively chewing them out. “Aren’t you two meant to be adults? I’m fourteen and I can tell you shouldn’t be alone. How am I going to beat you both in Worlds if you die of stupidity?”

 

“Is he always this annoyed, or is it just me?” Yuuri is too tired to argue, and too confused to even address the slew of insults.

 

Victor snorts, flopping onto Yuuri’s bed. “Not just you, Yuri likes to maintain a simmering level of rage at all times.”

 

And now, Victor Nikiforov, five-time gold medalist and skating royalty, apparently makes ugly noises when he laughs at his own jokes.

 

Talk about cognitive dissonance.

 

“Shut up, Victor.” Yuri gripes.

 

Thankfully, Victor does in fact shut up, pulling out his cell phone and frowning at the screen.

 

With no solid plan and no real clue what the hell is happening, Yuuri decides there’s at least some form of safety in numbers, right? He starts to haphazardly gather his things, wishing he’d had a chance to tidy before the Russian skating contingent had invaded his hotel room. It takes him less than ten minutes to rustle up his belongings, seeing little point in leaving anything behind - he was planning to miss the banquet after the exhibition anyway, head straight back to Detroit and Phichit and a huge tub of Ben and Jerry’s.

 

Or had been, he wasn’t sure what the hell he was planning now - with Celestino on the other side of the world and signs of chaos noticeable by the tinny sound of a newscaster reporting in panicky Russian through Victors phone. Yuri fires a question to Victor, his voice pitched strangely as Yuuri empties his wardrobe, stuffing shirts into his case and closing it.

 

Victor and Yuri descend into a conversation in hurried Russian, Yuri gesturing to the phone. Victor frowns in consternation, face twisting in response to either the news report or the teenager, then switches to his accented English when he notices Yuuri frowning at the exchange.

 

“They’re reporting that there’s, uh...nothing to report. Basically they’re not sure what is going on, but the Premier is safe. There’s a few mentions of the chance it could be a Cataclysm, but they’re not admitting to it...” Victor’s face twists again as he zones in on the newscaster again. “They’re expecting a statement in the next couple of hours.”

 

The Cataclysm.

 

Well shit. That would be a just perfect ending to a terrible week - if for the first time in twenty years the fates decided to have a little fun, and this time it was at Yuuri’s expense. He shudders to think what kind of fallout there would be if it  _ was _ the Cataclysm.

 

Victor closes out of the feed and stands up, rousing himself with a shake of his head and running a hand through his hair, looking between the other skaters. “Back to the suite then?”

 

Yuri is on his feet in seconds, grabbing his skate bag and heading to the door of Yuuri’s hotel room without a second glance. Yuuri grabs his own cases, juggling them for a moment and glancing at the newly empty room, double checking for any rogue belongings before following in Yuri’s wake. Victor cuts ahead of him, pulling the door wide for him to get through and claiming the larger of the two cases as the door swings shut behind them.

 

The suddenness of Victor’s hand over his own has Yuuri faltering for a second, finding Victor close beside him and smiling faintly as he takes the bag and heads towards the elevators. Yuuri doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know what to do - how do you make small talk with someone you’ve idolised for half of your life? In lieu of filling the silence Yuuri offers a small smile in return.

 

They remain silent as they enter the elevator, Yuri preceding them into the small space and settling against the rail once more. The discomfort of being in a confined space with relative strangers has Yuuri fiddling with the zipper of his Team Japan jacket, wishing away the seconds before he can find the nearest flat surface and finally sleep off this weird-as-hell day. They file out onto the twelfth floor, shuffling feet and tired limbed heading behind Yuri as he makes his way to a door at the end of the hallway. The door is shouldered open by the teen, who kicks off his shoes haphazardly and stalks into the suite before heading to his room.

 

It takes a second for Yuuri to process Plisetsky’s departure, he’s so caught up in taking in the room he’s standing in to pay attention to Yuri, who grunts a short “Night”. The suite is huge and starkly white; white walls, white furnishings, and white doors on either side of the floor to ceiling windows leading off to what Yuuri guesses are the bedrooms. There’s a huge media centre at one end of the room and a minibar on the other, which Victor promptly heads for, fiddling with the bottles for a moment before selecting what can only be a hundred dollar bottle of vodka and pouring himself a couple of fingers of the liquor.

 

“Want one?” He gestures with the bottle, question in his voice as he reaches for another glass. Why the hell not, the day couldn’t get any weirder right? And a drink doesn’t seem like a bad idea right now. He nods quickly and Victor pours the second glass and then settles on one of the couches that probably costs more that everything in Yuuri and Phichit’s rooms combined. It’s about then that Yuuri realises he’s still standing in the doorway, mutely taking in the view of his idol slumping into the cushions and sending him a quizzical look. “Would you like me to bring yours to you? Or are you going to join me for a nightcap?” The question is topped off with a grin and a wink that would have the fangirls (and Yuuri, usually) swooning.

 

His feet carry him to the couch once he’s freed them of his sneakers, sliding them off beside the door and nestling them beside his case. He’s still not sure what he’s doing here, how Victor even knows his name, or what the hell is going on- but Victor Nikiforov is offering him an encouraging smile and extending Yuuri’s glass as he perches on the edge of the second couch. Yuuri’s at a loss, unsure just how comfortable he could possibly get in the ridiculous situation. 

 

“Thank you.” The mumbled reply seems to throw Victor momentarily. He offers another smaller smile and settles back into his couch.

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

The silence that envelops them is heavy with uncertainty. Yuuri can practically  _ see _ Victor thinking, his eyes distant as he raises his glass to his lips and take a single sip, but as the liquid mees his lips he jolts out of his preoccupation and looks at Yuuri again. “We forgot to toast, Yuuri.”

 

He wishes Victor would stop saying his name. It’s putting him on edge.

 

“To another successful Grand Prix?” Yuuri offers, self-depreciation cutting into his words.

 

“To whatever the hell this particular Cataclysm mess is this time?” Victor counters with that slightly off kilter smile again. “I thought that Canton Ohio thing was the weirdest thing that could happen, but here we are...”

 

Canton. He’d almost forgotten about that particular ‘event’, not that he could be blamed, he’d been a toddler when it had happened. Victor would have been a kid too... Imagine waking up one morning to find your entire city had been relocated from Middle America to the northeast coast of Scotland one day in the mid-nineties. As children they’d been taught about it, a quirky little tale of relocation that had them all wide-eyed as their teachers explained about the Cataclysm, about the strange occurrences and dancing plagues in the 1700’s. 

 

And here they were, the new Cataclysm.

 

Maybe...?

 

There would be tests, interviews, measurements, and people running them like hamsters in a cage if that were the case…

 

“I remember the Ohio thing happening… I didn’t really understand at the time, of course, but it was so strange. For weeks after my mother wouldn’t let me out of her sight, just in case something like it happened again and we got separated and now… I suppose I should call her. Yakov might have already informed her that I’m fine, but still-” The sound of his breath is sharp in the air as he considers. “I’ll call her in the morning. It won’t do to call and worry Mama and Papa this late.” 

 

Again Yuuri doesn't have anything to reply, he brings his own glass to his lips and lets the vodka sting his tongue. He has the distinct feeling that Victor is talking to simply fill the awkward silence. Yuuri’s almost relieved when he feels the buzzing of his cellphone against his leg through his track pants. 

 

Phichit, the screen declares once he fishes it from his pocket.

 

“I’m sorry, I have to...” Victor nods before he’s finished the sentence, and he answers the call with a second look at Victor, staring out of the window with a slight frown. “Phichit, hey.”

 

“‘Hey’ he says. ‘Hey.’ As if I haven’t been calling every fifteen minutes for the last hour and a half trying to get to him.” He can hear the exasperation in his roommate's voice, but he can also sense the smile that’d be playing at the edge of his lips as he says it, “Are you okay? Something- something happened Yuuri. My brother woke up to a stranger in his bedroom and I haven’t been able to get through to Leo-”

 

“I’m fine, I’m fine. How about you, are you still in Detroit? Nothing happened to you?”

 

“Yeah, I’m just hanging out with the hamsters and trying ever so hard to wait to hear what the hell happened  _ this time _ .” That right there would have been an eye roll. “So nothing happened to you? You’re safe?”

 

“Well..” He spears a glance across at Victor, but the man is dozing on his couch now, shoulders slumping into an uncomfortable angle against the armrest, “Well it did happen- I think? But well-”

 

“Well what? I thought you were still in Sochi?”

 

“I am, it happened in Sochi- and I stayed in Sochi? But…” He can’t help but whisper for fear of rousing Victor, “But I kinda moved across the hallway, to Victor? Like I was leaving the arena and then it- it happened and I was next to Victor.”

 

“Victor  _ Nikiforov _ ?”

 

“How many other Victors are there?”

 

“Well you’re in Russia, Yuuri, I’m sure there are lots of Victors in Russia-”

 

“Shut up Phichit.”

 

“You shut up.”

 

“Really? You think bickering is a good idea right now?”

 

“No. In fact it’s stupid. What happened next?”

 

“Uh, I tried to leave again and I got dizzy and nearly passed out on Morooka. And then Yuri Plisetsky came and dragged me back into the arena and now we’re in the Russian national team's hotel suite.”

 

“Holy shit.”

 

“Yeah…”

 

“No, holy shit. What the fuck is this?”

 

“I don’t know Phichit, but I feel like hell and Victor Nikiforov is falling asleep on the couch opposite me with a full glass of vodka in his hand that's about to spill on a rug that's probably worth more than my skates.”

 

“I can't believe this-”

 

“Me either, but whatever the hell this is, I’m too tired to deal with it right now.”

 

“Yeah, you sound it - try and get some rest before the banquet tomorrow? Then fly back and you can fill me in on what your idol is like up close-”

 

“Right now he’s about to fall off a couch- I’ll talk to you later, okay?” Yuuri doesn’t wait for the answer, foregoing a goodbye to rescue the glass that finally topples from Victor's hand seconds before it overturns and sets it on the coffee table beside them. 

 

Victor doesn’t stir when Yuuri rectifies the glass, nor when he falteringly shuffles the couch cushions so Victor’s lying more comfortably, snuggling down into his jacket with his arms wrapped tightly around his torso. Yuuri mirrors his posture, too exhausted to go in search of bedding and wriggles into the closest thing he can achieve to a comfortable position. Lulling himself to sleep with the sound of Victor’s breathing echoing his own is a surreal and jarring experience, but he manages it in moments, the day’s taxing activity gripping him and pulling him into a fitful sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri and Victor attempt to function around whatever the heck is happening to them, Yuri is generally done with this crap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two, and only a couple of days late! Thank you all for your patience in waiting for the update!
> 
> I just want to say thank you for all of the amazing comments, I'm completely overwhelmed by the positive feedback I've received so far, and hope you all enjoy this behemoth of a chapter and my never-ending thanks!
> 
> Big S/O goes to the ever amazing @Sachiro for beating my ass for tenses and continuity, he's the best Beta an autonomous meat sack could ask for.

 

There are voices around him when Yuuri wakes up, muffled by the way his right ear is pressed into the leather upholstery of the sofa, but still decipherable. He fights against the awareness that consciousness brings, the remembrance of the day before slamming into him with the force of a truck.

 

“Are you blackmailing me?”

  
  
“I’d like to say negotiating with you, but call it what you like.”

 

“I’m not doing it-”

 

“Yuri, please?” Victor sounds contrite and hopeful. “Yuri. Can you please do this for me?”

 

“Fine. I’ll go. But Yakov will be pissed-”

 

“I can deal with Yakov. But I can’t leave the room right now and-”

 

“I know, I know- the idiot needs you right?” Yuuri hears the sound of shuffling feet then the door opening, warping around Yuri’s parting words as he sweeps through it. “You’re a fucking moron, Nikiforov.”

 

Victor lets out an audible sigh and Yuuri cracks his eyes open minutely to find the man staring right at him from across the coffee table. It shocks him enough that he jerks up and away, pressing back into the couch and his breath catching in his throat, “Victor?!”

 

“Uh-” Victor blinks right back at Yuuri, clearly taken aback by the suddenness of his awakening, but it lasts milliseconds before Victor straightens and beams another thousand watt smile. “Good morning, Yuuri. Did you sleep well?”

 

“Morning…” It takes Yuuri a second to locate his glasses on the side table and ease them over his eyes, bringing the bright smile and false cheer into sharp relief. Victor is looking almost as haggard as he had the night before, hair rumpled and face pale. Something’s going on…  “Could have been better, if I’m honest.”

 

“Yes. These things aren't really built for sleeping, they don’t go easy on your back!” The sight of his feigned laughter puts Yuuri’s teeth on edge.

 

“You couldn’t leave?”

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

“You said you couldn’t leave- To Yuri.” Victor’s smile drops like a stone. “What’s… what’s happening to us?”

 

“Uh- I’m not sure, but there’s been some reports… I think it’ll be best if I just-” He picks up the sleek black tv remote from the couch beside him and flicks the channel guide until he finds a news service broadcasting in English.

 

" _\- reports of the Cataclysm have been pouring in all day, with incidences as far removed as Greenland and Papua New Guinea being brought to the attention of the authorities in their respective regions. Those affected report experiencing bilocation which calls back to the Ohio Cataclysm in September 1996 and distance related tension between their Cataclysm partners. The tension had been described by some as excruciatingly painful, with reports of several people succumbing to injuries to themselves and partners respectively. Several heads of state have been found in neighbouring countries, and all walks of life seem to have been affected in the incident-” The newscaster looks harried, her makeup is smudged around the eyes and her hair wispy in the lights of the studio as people hurry back and forth behind her in the newsroom. She cuts off to frown at the desk for a second then nods to herself before re-addressing her audience. “Breaking news just in- The film and television actor Martin Freeman has been located after much searching by family and friends, having contacted them through email after convincing his Cataclysm partner to allow him internet access. His family have sent their thanks to those fans whose well wishes have been pouring in via Twitter and Facebook after a very public campaign to locate the Oscar nominated star-_ "

 

Victor mutes the television set, looking at Yuuri with a worried frown. “I think that covers what they know…”

 

“So it _was_ a new Cataclysm.” It’s not a question, but Victor nods once in agreement. “And the distance-related tension? That was what was happening to us? When we… separated?”

 

“Sounds like it.”

 

“Well, shit.” Yuuri runs a hand through his hair, finding it stiff from the night’s stresses and lack of shower. “What happened when you tried to leave this morning?”

 

“The same thing. I could feel it. It was pulling me back from the hallway.”

 

“Pulling you back?”

 

“You didn’t sense that last night?”

 

Last night had been… rushing noises and pain, gut-wrenching wrongness that stole the breath and the strength from him. He could almost feel the clutching fingers that had gripped him as he sat, stealing the warmth from his limbs. There had been something, an insistent tugging- almost a force dragging him…

 

“It was weirder this time,” Victor starts in a hushed voice, as though voicing such a thing at a normal level would break the words in two as they left him, “This time it was slower, it was like a nagging feeling in my chest. Yesterday it was quick, violent and painful. Today it was like missing a step going downstairs and being winded at the same time.” His eyes are fixed on the windows again, small frown back in place. His reverie doesn’t last long though, he shakes himself out of it with another forced smile and a small laugh, “Naturally I marched right back to the suite and sent Yuri out to find breakfast- or, well, I tried room service first, but apparently the chef was zipped away to Cologne so there’s no continental today!”

 

“Victor what are we going-”

 

“Don’t worry about that right now, Yakov will be calling me any minute to check in on Yuri. I’m sure you’ll need to contact your own coach too; Celestino disappeared and probably need us to gather his things I suppose- Ah Yuri, perfect timing, I’m starved.”

 

Yuuri can practically see Victor sag with relief that he’s being pulled out from Yuuri’s scrutiny, watching as Victor darts to the door to assist Yuri with the bags of food he’s managed to secure for their breakfasts.

 

“It was fucking pandemonium out there-” He kicks his shoes off at the door with enough force to damage the plastering on the wall behind it, “People are panic-buying everything in sight. I nearly had to wrestle a biker for the fucking bread.”

 

“I’m sorry Yuri-”

 

“Yuri. Thank you.” His words are quiet, but both Yuri and Victor are silenced by them. A swift passing of looks between them results in Yuri getting ever more defeated, shoulders slumping before he shuffles off to rummage for plates. Yuuri busies himself with looking through the bags, finding a surprisingly well balanced looking breakfast for them- which was far more than he was expecting from the surly teenager. “Wow, you found lychees?”

 

“They were just on a shelf.” The boy mutters, passing a bowl to Victor and helping himself to the only banana without another word. He peels the thing slowly with a frown that seems to be permanently etched onto his features. “People are saying it was that Cataclysm thing…”

 

“We saw-” Yuuri starts, before he’s cut off by the teen.

 

“It was on the news.”

 

“It was.” Victor agrees, they’re solemn in a way that has Yuuri feeling like he’s missing something. Something huge and unknowable judging from the closed off look on Plisetsky’s face.

 

“What happens next?” Yuri demands, looking between them quickly.

 

“I have no idea.”

 

“How can you not know? You’ve seen this before-”

 

“Yuri, how could I possibly-”

 

“Don’t fucking lie to me- I’m not a fucking kid!” The speed with which Yuri leaves the couch is matched only by how quickly he makes his way back to his room, the slamming of the door like a punctuation mark ending the sentence.

 

“That was… predictable, I suppose.” Victor shrugs off his exit with a sad smile, returning to tearing into the bread he’d been clutching throughout the exchange. “I apologise for Yuri. He’s a kitten usually- a feral one, but you get used to it.”

 

Yuuri sincerely doubted that.

 

* * *

  


Breakfast is rounded off by phone calls coming in thick and fast between Victor and his phones. Celestino finally manages to catch him while Victor is on the phone with what he assumes is his parents, if the frequent Mama’s and Papa’s dropped into the conversation are anything to go by. His coach is relieved to hear his voice, but preoccupied by his own situation- he’d been transported transcontinentally and is still recovering from the headache it had caused him. Celestino suggests he wait until after the banquet to head back, which is apparently still going ahead, mainly due to the ferocity of the ISU’s need to maintain some semblance of normality under the Cataclysm.

 

It’s a common enough reaction, Yuuri supposes; the idea of simply attempting to maintain a smidgen of control while the world around them realigns itself to its new reality. His Mother and Father had been impressed by the attitude that surrounded the ‘96 event, the residents of the small town either relocating back to their country or assimilating into the new population with little fuss. It had been a logistical nightmare at the time, but was now the subject of many seminars in his business school due to the logistical aspects of relocating entire populations in weeks or less.

 

He can’t muster the courage to mention his own situation to Celestino, not yet. The man seems harried and exhausted enough, without Yuuri’s problems to deal with…

 

After the banquet, then he’ll sit down with Victor and discuss whatever the hell they’re going to do. Do together. How long would the Cataclysm hold? Would it be a couple of days and then whatever force was holding them together would die off? Or was it forever? He’s heard of times gone by, of Cataclysmic events killing hundreds in one stroke, of people missing for decades and reappearing to the horror of their families who had mourned them- could it be that bad? Would it be that bad to be around his idol?

 

“...You still have your ISU credentials, so go and enjoy the exhibitions today. Don’t worry about me and have some fun at the banquet, Yuuri!” There’s forced cheer there as he signs off, but Celestino doesn’t know Yuuri won’t have a choice but to be there, Victor is skating after all-

 

“-Dasvidaniya.” Victor blows out a heavy breath and frowns at his phone’s screen for a moment, “That was… not fun. Yakov got to them first and told them that he’d been raptured off or something and they were panicking about me.”

 

“Your parents?”

 

“Yes, they’re very overprotective…”

 

“I think everyone gets a bit panicked, it’s not exactly normal everyday stuff… My Mother and Father try not to show it, but they were really scared after the last one. I mean an entire county in America just disappeared…” Yuuri runs himself dry of platitudes, curiosity peaking. “Did you… Did you tell them about it?”

 

“I did.” He shoots a searching look at Yuuri, “Did you tell your coach?”

 

“Uh, no. He seemed a bit out of it himself so I… Didn’t want to burden him too much.”

 

“Yuuri, this is the kind of thing that if I were a coach, I’d want to know about my skater. How are you going to explain this at a later date?” Victor looks bemused, as though Yuuri is the puzzle here.

 

“Uh… just like that?”

 

“I see. We’ll have to have a discussion about our options going forward, what we’re going to do about… this… but I have to get to the rink in the next hour for this ridiculous exhibition… I guess we could both use showers too. And god knows how that’s going to work with _this_.” Victor is aiming for a light airy laugh, it sounds more like a muffled coughing fit.

 

“It’s fine. My parents own an onsen- a traditional hot spring- nudity is just normal in my household.” Yuuri aims for an unaffected tone himself but he can hear the nerves in the tremor of his voice. It honestly doesn’t bother him, really, but Victor is talking about getting naked in an enclosed space with him– _Victor Nikiforov_ is talking about being naked with him– and _that_ is a different level of awkward.

 

“Should we test it?”

 

“The distance?”

 

“Well, it’s going to have boundaries, right? We should know them. I mean, how are we going to skate if we don’t know how far we can be from one another?”

 

“Uh.”

 

“And we should know how far we can go, that way we’ll be able to figure out at least something about how this works right?” Victor is suddenly very excitedly grabbing his arm and dragging him to Yuri Plisetsky’s doorway, knocking frantically and bouncing on his feet slightly. Weirdly, it has Yuuri feeling suddenly light too; perhaps seeing Victor so quickly bounce to his feet has got him a second wind of energy. Yuri, however, does not seem to appreciate the change to the atmosphere. He listens to Victor’s request that he help them experiment with a sour expression, not even bothering to answer before he slams the door in their faces.

 

There’s a moment of swooping disappointment in Yuuri’s chest that reflects on Victor’s features, before the mega-watt smile is back in place and Victor is chattering on about using the hallway to test out theories…

 

It doesn’t go well.

 

The first time they try the distance, Victor gives no warning to Yuuri, leaving him in the doorway and darting away happily. Yuuri’s anxiety pricks before the fingers begin to grip his spine and he’s already on edge, Victor makes it less than twenty feet. Victor doubled over and Yuuri clutching at the door frame for dear life.

 

“Ah- Crap that hurt!” Victor says cheerily. “Strange, yesterday I managed to get up to the twelfth floor before it had me in that much pain- perhaps it's connected to awareness of the separation…” They’ve regained their composure now, breathing mostly back to normal, and the tugging had eased off. Victor taps a finger to his lips thoughtfully. “Okay. Yuuri I’m going to try again, I’m just going to go the same distance, is that alright?”

 

“Uh… yes?”

 

“Be right back!” He chirps brightly, setting off down the corridor at a sedate pace. The steps echo against the bare walls as he goes, but he keeps darting looks and smile back at Yuuri as he goes, “Look, I passed this hideous chair, I didn’t make it this far last time!” Victor chirps, but the edges of his voice are harsh to Yuuri’s sensitive ears all of a sudden. It’s like tunnel vision, the moment he realises how far Victor has gotten, the symptoms are flaring up, the tugging relentless, and Yuuri can’t help but move inexorably forward after Victor.

 

“Yuuri, you’re meant to stay there!” Again, he’s being playful, but the set of his jaw and clenched teeth speak volumes of what Victor is feeling. Yuuri keeps walking, slowly gaining on the other man. The proximity helps, it eases away the gripping pain in his head and the swooping swamped feeling in his chest. Victor straightens as he moves into his personal space, standing by what he’d correctly described as a hideous chair and watching silently. Yuuri gets the feeling that he’s not saying something that’s on the tip of his tongue, his blue eyes bright in his pale face.

 

“I think that’s enough, Victor. Shouldn’t you be getting ready for the exhibition?”

 

“Yes, I should get that shower huh?” He laughs easily, not looking at Yuuri but moving past him with quick steps and leaving Yuuri in the hallway before he feels the pulling behind him that must mean Victor is getting too far away.

 

He can’t really help it if he follows.

 

They conclude between them that they can safely shower separately, having made it more than obvious from their experiments that they can separate for at least a small distance. “Just… stay in the bedroom, while I…” Victor gestures toward the bathroom vaguely, “I’ll do the same for you, I promise!” Then he’s gone, off into the bathroom with a slamming of the door that has Yuuri flinching at the noise.

 

* * *

 

The arena isn’t as busy this afternoon, the crowds subdued.

 

Practice for Victor had been a few stretches and a tentative loop around the ice, he didn’t bother to try out for jumps during his warm up, he’d been too busy glancing over the ice back at Yuuri. He was stood rinkside, his ISU credentials getting him through security and Victor’s influence sweeping aside any protests from the organisers without alerting them to exactly what was going on with them.

 

He was Victor Nikiforov after all. He could do anything and go anywhere in the Russian skating community with a carte blanche.

 

Yuri Plisetsky was another matter entirely, the Junior exhibitions had been cancelled due to the Cataclysm. Parents of the young competitors had apparently bombarded the officials with emails and phone calls to get their children back home, so they’d had to bow to the pressure. Yuri was restlessly pacing behind Yuuri as Victor took to the ice for his exhibition, frowning darkly at the older man, and studiously ignoring any attempt Yuuri made to make conversation. The looks he was giving the pair of them were indecipherably aggressive, as though their predicament was an offense to him in some way. Yuuri put it to the back of his mind to wonder over later. Victor was on the ice before him and his exhibition deserved undivided attention.

 

The fanboy part of Yuuri was still processing the turn of events that had him rinkside, with an unlimited view of his idol as he took the centre of the ice. He’d dreamed as a kid of seeing Victor skate himself rather than through an old battered TV set, he’d spent countless hours watching every placement of arm and leg as he conquered the ice time after time, he’d wished to be able to watch Victor’s skates over the last couple of days, before the news of Vicchan had taken his flights of fancy off their perch and replaced them with reality. Now here he was, watching the most decorated skater in history with the best seat in the house…

 

Only the circumstances that had gotten him here were clouding the joy that was surging in his chest. The prickling knowledge that this could possibly be the only time he’d get this chance, there were so many things for them to work out, so many worries piling on top of worries to go over.

 

Not now though. Right now, this moment was Victor’s, and he took full advantage. Yuuri could feel the oddest sense of calm stealing over him as the music began to flow, as Victor started to dance across the ice impossibly beautiful and incredibly real. The contrast of his costume against the stark white of the ice drew all eyes, the slick sound of his blades on the ice was an echo that called to Yuuri and had him itching to take to the ice himself, to move as he moved and echo right back at his idol. His heart was soaring simply watching, he couldn’t imagine how it would feel to be on the same ice with the man. Yet that was a possibility wasn’t it? They were stuck in this situation, they didn’t have much of a choice but to be together. Maybe, one day they could skate together.

 

Could it be that easy? To just fall into a life with his idol beside him?

 

The exhibition skate ends far too soon for Yuuri’s taste, with Victor dead centre on the ice with his chest heaving with exertion. It’s more than Yuuri can handle to see Victor turning to him, to where he’s stood beside the boards and smile brightly after accepting the audiences muted applause. He barely registers the people around him, Yuri is a distant memory when Victor makes his way over, smile still in place and asks, “How was it?”

 

He barely manages a stuttered response. He does register the words ‘perfect’ and ‘amazing’ and only hopes he’s putting them into some form of sentence.

 

“Thank you, Yuuri.” Victor is still smiling, so so brightly that Yuuri wants to reach out to him, to grab his hands to punctuate whatever he’d said with action, “It felt different today, it felt _better_ -”

 

“Who cares. Let's just get the hell out of here. We still have the stupid banquet to go.” Yuri doesn’t give them time to reply, he doesn’t meet either of their eyes, he just storms away with his hands shoved deep into his Team Russia jacket. Victor frowns at his departure, a few choice words falling from his lips in his native tongue as he clips his skate guards on.

 

Whatever happy atmosphere they’re floating in has been shattered thoroughly, Yuuri follows behind Victor as he makes his way through the bowels of the arena, stopping by the changing rooms only to slip quickly out of his skates and into sneakers before they’re hurrying after Yuri. Victor doesn’t speak as they circumnavigate the other skaters, he offers nods and waves to some competitors but mostly keeps his head down as he goes, avoiding the few press officers who’ve attended with practiced ease and exiting into the snowy air of Sochi.

 

“Is he okay? Yuri?” Victor startles at the interruption, as though he’d forgotten Yuuri was there with him.

 

“It’s… difficult. It’s not something I should talk about…” The ‘with you’ is left off, but Yuuri hears it anyway. “It’s not my story to tell.”

 

Yuuri nods, he accepts it, but he’s worrying his lip as they make their way through snowy deserted streets, wondering what- if anything- he could do. The thought is laughable, he can’t even do anything for himself let alone a tiny raging teenager. He buckles the thought to himself. He can’t help, he can’t because he has enough to deal with right now.

 

It doesn’t stop his worrying, but as they enter the hotel lobby Yuuri promises himself that after the banquet he’s going to get a grip on the situation.

 

* * *

 

The mood in the room is oppressive once they return, Yuri is sat huddled on one of the couches, shoes still firmly on and burying himself deep in his hood. He doesn’t look up when they enter, he keeps his eyes fixed on the screen of his cell phone and turns the device imperceptibly away from view.

 

“Yuri.” Victor starts gently, his hands up in supplication as he moves across the room.

 

“No, Victor.” His eyes don’t leave the screen, but there’s a furrowing in his brows that has Yuuri looking for the nearest exit.

 

“Yuri, please.”

 

“No. I’m not talking about it-” It’s said dismissively, the tremble in his words betrays whatever emotion is running through the younger man. “I’m never going to talk about this with you, so just give up old man.”

 

“You’re being a child.”

 

“Says you.” He finally looks away from the screen to look at Victor, mouth working over what see like a thousand words that are pushing their way out. Yuri’s face is getting incredibly red. “You get to have _your_ exhibition, you get to just flounce around like you own the place, _you_ get whatever _you_ want and no one stops you-”

 

“Yuri, I don’t know what’s happening but-” Yuuri’s attempts to dissolve the argument are met with Yuri inflating with fury, he almost hisses out his response.

 

“ _Shut it_ Moron _, this doesn’t concern you_.” Yuri is on his feet now, phone in a death grip and staring at the pair of them furiously. He’s gritting his teeth as he addresses Victor. “I never needed you, I wanted you to help me with my senior debut, I wanted just once to have one adult in my life who… You don’t know what it’s like. No one does- it fucking sucks to have this shit- you know what, never mind. Go to the stupid banquet, do whatever. _I don’t care_.” The force of his words makes Victor flinch. “You and this idiot can have a grand time doing whatever the hell you have to do because you’re stuck like that. Some of us don’t get out of the fucking Cataclysm so easy Moron, enjoy it while it lasts”. With one last scathing look, he sweeps out of the room and back to his bedroom, door slamming for good measure.

 

Yuuri looks at Victor helplessly, wordlessly pleading for some context to frame whatever the hell that was, but Victor is frowning at the door Yuri disappeared through. He acknowledges Yuuri’s presence to insist that they change for the banquet, offering to change in the bathroom while Yuuri uses his suite to dress.

 

The bathroom door closes quietly this time, Victor having gathered his suit and hurried in looking worried, the sound of the shower starting up covers the sigh that slips past Yuuri’s lips. He wouldn’t need to be a genius to work out that Plisetsky had been on the wrong side of a Cataclysm event, at this point he’s almost certain of it. Yet there hadn’t been an event in nearly twenty years- until yesterday. He busies himself with shucking out of his shirt, still wondering. Was it possible for an event to occur and not be reported, or be mistaken for an accident? He’d heard of an accident being blamed on Cataclysm before, it was only natural for the bereaved to reach out and grasp the possibility that there had been nothing they could have done, it was a twist of fate, it was Cataclysm. The other way around though would be crazy would be illegal according to the World Cataclysm Committee.

 

The kid had been volatile before the Cataclysm, he’d kicked Yuuri’s bathroom stall down and given him the verbal beatdown of his life. But it had had a purpose, even if Yuuri wasn’t appreciative of its method, Plisetsky was a little transparent at times. This, however, this anger, these outbursts were almost entirely emotional…

 

Yuuri perched on the end of Victor’s pristine bed, he’d managed to get as far as loosening his pants, still caught up in worrying about Yuri. Victor, however, was dressed and ready to go- or so it seemed when the bathroom door swung open and he emerged in a waft of cologne looking for all the world as though he’d stepped out of the pages of Vogue. Yuuri is still shirtless with his pants around his ankles and his pudge on show. They stare at each other for a solid three seconds before Victor starts visibly and fixes his eyes on the floor.

 

“Oh- Sorry you’re not dressed! I’ll…” He hurries past Yuuri with his head ducked, studiously not looking at him. There are an uncomfortable few seconds where Victor has to dart past the end of the bed to get to the door, the frisson of his passing playing at Yuuri’s nerves in a tingling that has his feet itching to follow. He halts after one step, aborting the movement by force and shaking himself out of the heavy feeling that had him trailing after Victor so easily.

 

That was new.

 

That was different…

 

He’d been forced to follow Victor for most of the day, trotting after him as he made his way around the Sochi arena for his exhibition skate and keeping close to his sides in the crowds. Negotiating through corridors and stairwells in the hotel as they made their way to and from the event had been a strange enough sensation- the need to stick close to Victor’s side necessitated by their bizarre situation.

 

Whatever that tingling sensation had been, it was something completely removed from what they’d experienced in the corridor earlier, or the evening before. That had been a pull, not of the need to extinguish pain, but of a tickling desire that had him wanting to be closer and close distance for reasons he could feel under his skin like an itch. He wanted Victor. Fuck. He’d wanted Victor for years in his teens on dark nights in his bedroom, discovering the nuances of his body with nervous hands and muffled gasps. He’d wanted Victor on the ice as a competitor for longer, he wanted to be beside the man in any capacity-

 

And now he was.

 

Now he had no choice but to be there, however long the Cataclysm held- he had to be in close proximity to one of the most desirable and eligible bachelors in the world. He could try to prove himself worthy of it, he could grasp the sudden connection and run with it a million miles in the right direction if Victor wanted it. If Victor wanted him. But he might not. He probably wouldn’t… Victor was probably used to beautiful people, those sparkling people who belonged to a world of perfect bodies and perfect hair and perfect smiles. Yuuri didn’t have those things. Yuuri had anxiety and his panic eating weight.

 

Fastening his tie felt like wrapping a noose around his neck, confining himself in the too-tight layers of his suit felt all too much like he was dressing for his own funeral at that moment. His mind a jumble of thoughts, all centering on one person- one person he wouldn’t be able to get away from no matter how much he wanted the space. It was a treacherous process to get his feet into shoes and his jacket fastened snugly. It was like walking through rivers of mud to get to the bedroom door and drag it open.

 

Victor shot from his seat on the couch, straightening the moment Yuuri entered and patting his suit back into shape, refastening the jacket and sweeping a look over Yuuri that had him feeling suddenly shy. “You’re ready?”

 

“Yes.” It struck him suddenly that this is like a first date- they’re both dressed up to the nines and Victor is still scanning over the fit of his suit with careful eyes, nodding in approval.

 

“We should head out then…” Victor looks torn for half a second before he meets Yuuri at the end of the couch, he gestures to Yuuri’s neck. “Your tie is a little crooked… may I?”

 

“Sure.” Yuuri’s agreeing before he processes the statement, and Victor is in his space before he can change his mind with careful fingers gently loosening his tie from its death grip and freeing the top button. He settles the knot back into place and lets his fingers hover over it for just a moment, eyes finding Yuuri’s. The eye contact is heavy, ladened with something that has Yuuri buzzing all over again, his spine-tingling in the strangest way…

 

Victor blinks, breaking the moment and pulling them both out of whatever the hell that had been.

 

“There. Much better.” He taps a finger on the knot against Yuuri’s collar and smiles that camera-ready smile again, “Let’s head out, shall we?”

 

* * *

 

The first glass of champagne is handed to him by way of greeting as he and Victor enter the banquet, the room is buzzing with people and thick with talk of the previous night. Victor is noticed by ISU officials immediately, the representatives converging upon them in a flurry of questions- some about Yakov’s disappearance and Yuri’s clear absence- another official demands Yuuri’s attention to answer for his own coach. The process of information exchange takes less than five minutes, but flute number one is already empty at the end of the ordeal.

 

Glass number two is pressed into his fingers by Victor, having dumped their empties on a table and promptly found a tray making its way past them. Victor complains about how tactless the ISU officials had been in their questioning, Yuuri agrees but doesn’t offer up a comment as he sips the champagne. Victor punctuates sentences with gulps of it. They fill a few minutes with identifying people in the room, waving greetings to competitors and sponsors before they decide to mingle a little. He empties his glass and follows Victor as he wanders into the throng.

 

Flute number three appears in his line of sight as he’s talking to a representative from Mizuno, they’re his sponsors after all and it’d be rude not to at least try to maintain a healthy relationship, right? The glass is being offered to him by Christophe, who’s chatting to Victor and a sponsor from Nike and has grabbed enough champagne to keep them all sufficiently hydrated. Chris looks between him and Victor with a grin before leaning in and muttering to Yuuri, “You both seem cozy. I didn’t know you’d even been introduced properly.” Yuuri offers a weak smile, unsure of exactly how to explain the situation- if Victor would even want him to…

 

Glass four is grabbed from a passing tray with an unsteady hand, equilibrium shaky after Chris’ comment and needing a little extra courage. It’s weird, but he feels like the alcohol is hitting him harder than usual, he can feel the restless need to do something with the energy he’s been unable to expend today. He should have gone for a run… but if he’d gone for a run Victor would have had to chase after him. The image has him snorting into his glass and upsetting half of it by force.

 

Glass five replaces glass four after being forcibly ejected by the mirth that had set in over just how funny Yuuri was. Victor replaced it for him, a loose grin on his lips and a loud laugh when Yuuri explained why the last glass had been so cruelly wasted. Victor agrees that it is funny, he giggles beside Yuuri as Chris looks between them perplexedly. They toast to just how funny it’s going to be to train together from now on with glass number six.

 

The toast has Chris raising his eyebrows and asking why they’re going to be training together. Victor answers with another stilted giggle. Yuuri decides that this conversation is boring as fuck. He asks Victor to dance after glass number seven.

 

Glass number eight probably had some action attributed to it. Yuuri can’t remember through the haze of having Victor in his arms as they dominate the dance floor. They’re forging a path through their fellow dancers by instinct, barely taking their eyes from each other as they move together. If Yuuri had been more sober, a little more cognizant of his actions he would have noticed that his hand gripping Victor’s was tingling with that same energy that had him moving inexorably to Victor earlier the prolonged contact sending a shivery heat up through his arm and into his chest.

 

* * *

 

Chris separates them.

 

Yuuri is less than pleased with it but follows doggedly after him and Victor as they exit the banquet room and into the deserted corridor.

 

“What on earth is going on, Victor? Yuuri, why the hell are you here I asked to speak to Victor.”

 

“Yep.” The alcohol is making everything seem far less daunting than usual, what the hell happened to his high tolerance? He pops the ‘P’ in yep with a grin and leans against the wall heavily.

 

“That invite hadn’t included your dashing self, Yuuri…”

 

“Well, we’re a set now!” Victor chimes with a happy smile, “Where he goes, I go and stuff!”

 

“And stuff.” Chris’ frown deepens, Victor picks up Yuuri’s hand and fiddles with his fingers idly.

 

“Would you follow me to the ends of the earth, Yuuri?” Victor’s voice is fervent and low, their eyes catch in a way that harkens back to earlier that evening, Yuuri swallows around a rising feeling of panic. Victor is watching him closely, still playing with the clasp of his hands, testing the grip of it in his own.

 

“I’d follow you anywhere.” He doesn’t know where the urge to be truthful comes from if it’s the eye contact or the skinship. Something pulls the words from the bottom of his heart and he suddenly wishes he’d drank less, that he’d maintained his filter… Victor nods solemnly.

 

“Well, it’s not as if you’d have any choice in the matter!” Victor breaks into a round of giggles that pulls answering chuckles from Yuuri’s chest, he pushes Victor playfully and Victor doubles over further in his hysteria.

 

“I bet you would too- you’d drag me all over the place, you sadist!” Yuuri is still trying to get his hands on Victor who’s busy wriggling away from his grip. He only stops when a firm hand on his wrist ceases his mission.

 

“Yuuri, you wound me. I’m _delightful_!” Victor beams, throwing in a wink for good measure.

 

“Hey. Both of you!” Chris is between them now, gaze flitting as he looks at them seriously, “Are you telling me you’ve both been _affected_ by the Cataclysm?”

 

“Well duh.”

 

“Yuuri! Don’t be rude! Chris is a good person. I like Chris, he’s sweet and he was so tiny when I first met him. You were so cute Christophe Giacometti, you were small and cute and I don’t know who turned you into this monster but I’m going to find them and I’ll-” Victor’s sudden surge of indignation has Yuuri frowning, his chest filling with an anger that he doesn’t recognise but has him nodding along to Victor's tirade and clenching a fist.

 

“Yes Victor, very good. I’m fine thanks. Very happy _not_ being small and cute anymore actually, but thanks for worrying.” He places a hand on Victor’s shoulder placatingly, Yuuri can almost feel the comforting weight of it himself. The tide of anger recedes almost as quickly as it had overtaken him, Victor sighs and smiles at his friend. “So you’re... stuck?”

 

“We are! Isn’t it funny?” Victor beams again, “We don’t even know each other Chris, and this morning we almost had to shower together! But we did some tests, we were so good weren’t we Yuuri! We did scientific tests and checked how far we could go. And Yuuri was amazing. Chris, did you know Yuuri’s amazing? I’ve been freaking out this whole time and he’s just calm and nice!” Victor grabs Yuuri’s hand again, “And he makes things tingly, look how tingly this is Chris. Wait. No. You can’t see it. Hold on-” He grabs Chris’ hand from his shoulder and places it in between their palms, “There! See! It’s tingly right?”

 

“Uh… no?” Chris extricates his fingers carefully, his frown back in place. “I don’t feel it, Vitya, but I guess I’m happy if you’re happy?”

 

“It’s so tingly. Yuuri isn’t it tingly?” Victor is fiddling with their fingers again.

 

“It is tingly, Chris, it’s so weird… I wish you could feel it. It’s… good tingly.” Yuuri looks at their joined hands, Victor’s fingers in his sending warmth through him in small pulses that have him almost giddy with it.

 

“It’s… Like a hot bath?” Victor frowns.

 

“Like an onsen!”

 

“Oh, Yuuri! Chris, Yuuri’s family owns an Onsen and we have to go. Can we go?” Victor peers up at Chris with a pair of the sorriest looking puppy dog eyes Yuuri has ever seen, he’s glad they’re not being aimed at him because a look like that would pretty much disable any rational thinking and he’d be helpless under their power.

 

“Onsen… Victor for God’s sake- Don’t you have something a bit more important to be worrying about right now? Like the fact that you and Yuuri are going to have to decide what the hell to do with your combined lives from now on?” Chris’ face twists in distaste, “How’re the pair of you going to compete?”

 

“Pair… Victor, we could pair skate!” Yuuri grins at the other man.

 

“Oh wow, Yuuri that’s amazing! We should totally, totally pair skate- Chris isn’t that the best?”

 

“You’re both trashed. How’re you so trashed?”

 

“I dunno. I’m a not this- _this_ usually!”

 

“And I’m Russian! My forefathers would be so disappointed…”

 

They dissolve into giggles again, hushing each other and shooting looks between them like chastened school children while Chris stands over them disapprovingly, he’s about to start questioning them again when an ISU official comes frowning out of the banquet room scanning the corridor. When he spots them he heads over immediately and begins herding them back to the banquet under instruction from his higher-ups.

 

“An announcement?” Chris enquires, frown seemingly permanently etched onto his face. Yuuri relates this to Victor in a whisper that carries to the ISU employee, Victor giggles again, the ISU employee doesn’t.

 

“About the Cataclysm, I think.” He replies, voice low. “I noticed the three of you were missing and thought you’d need to hear this-”

 

The room is hushed when they enter, the assembled crowd all facing a small podium which had appeared during their absence, there’s a woman reading from her tablet voice uneven, “...The nature and size of this Cataclysm are still being assessed, with so many affected it will take weeks, if not months for the recovery process to begin in earnest. It is with this in mind that the ISU has come to the decision that all competitive figure skating competitions will be hereby put on hold.” The crowd had been hushed, now there was a furious buzzing of conversation that was rising in volume as the woman fought to be heard over the group of people whose careers had just been indefinitely put on hiatus. “This precaution had been brought in for the safety of those affected by the Cataclysm, and their partners. Until more is known about the nature of those who have been touched by this event, we will proceed in this manner. Thank you all for your patience.”

 

The woman ducks her head as she leaves the podium, quickly being caught in conversation with a coach Yuuri vaguely recognises. The crowd is getting progressively noisier, the statement taking a few moments to settle in before there are angry shouts being added into the din. Yuuri feels suddenly and sickeningly sober, the reality of the enormity of this Cataclysm finally setting in and he feels his fingers being clutched in a death grip. When he looks to Victor, the man is staring at the empty podium and the space where the woman had been. Chris is beside him, a blush dusting his cheeks as he turns to the pair of them.

 

“Excuse me. My coach wants me-” He gives them another look, this one loaded in a way his previous glances hadn’t been. “Victor… call me okay?”

 

Victor doesn’t answer. He’s still a million miles away.

 

Victor doesn’t answer when Yuuri tries to pull him back to the present, he doesn’t respond when Yuuri asks if he’s okay, the only time he reacts is when Yuuri attempts to free his hand from Victor’s. Victor only increases his grip for a second, shaking himself out of his stupor and turning away from the room.

 

“Let’s go.” There’s a cold edge to Victor’s voice as he turns away, dropping Yuuri’s hand. He doesn’t look at Yuuri, heading to the doors with his posture stiff, as though he wants to get the hell out of there and hide away for a few days- maybe weeks.

 

They’re silent as they walk the corridors back to the room. Yuuri wished they weren’t, wished them back to giggly banter in a hallway with Chris instead of this oppressive pall that’s following their footsteps. The season is ostensibly over, cancelled in the wake of an event that has dragged the pair of them together. Yuuri feels the dead weight of his heart in his chest, heavy with the loss. Victor and he are together for some unknown reason, for who knows how long, and the thing that they have in common- their combined raison d'être has been ripped from them. It seems cruel, a perverse twist on an already perverse situation that has Yuuri’s shoulders pulling in around him as if he could shield himself from further harm.

 

It’s a small comfort, he muses as they enter the suite.

 

It’s no real comfort at all, he thinks as Victor flops onto the same couch he’d slept on last night.

 

There’s nothing here to comfort him, he knows as he burrowed his face into the couch cushions and waits for sleep.

 

Sleep doesn’t come easily that night for himself, nor Victor. They lie in a mockery of a ying-yang and studiously ignore each other. Time slipping by measured only in the beat of Yuuri’s heart in the wordless darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for reading, and for telling me what you think! I'd love to hear your thoughts on the chapter, all theories are welcome, either here or on my tumblr! 
> 
> See you guys next week!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back and on time with Chapter Three! Check me out with my posting schedule!!
> 
> Another shout out to @Sachiro for his beta peepers and ass-kicking prowess, and once again thank you all for your amazing comments. I'm completely overwhelmed by the reception.

 

Yuuri wakes up before the sun has fully risen, shadows casting the room in an ethereal light. The chill in the room eating into the thin shirt he'd still been wearing as he collapsed on the sofa the night before, fingers tight in his armpits to protect them from the cold. 

 

On the other couch, Victor has huddled into himself, curling around a throw cushion with his shoulders hunched. Victor’s features are fuzzy in the dawn's light, his skin pale tones that Yuuri can’t quite make out, but knows every inch of from the depths of his fanboy past. The desire to just bask in the allowance that the Cataclysm affords him is strong, he could spend hours just watching the minute changes in Victor’s expression as he dreamed, but the cold was making his skin feel tight on his bones and Victor shifted uncomfortably in his sleep, furrowing deeper into the couch in search of warmth.

 

Yuuri fumbles for the side table, hands unsure from the early hour and leftovers of banquet champagne, finding his glasses and jamming them quickly over his ears as he stands. He could try for the bedroom, try to find some way of warming Victor up… it would be barely twenty feet.

 

He makes it to the end of the couch without an issue, but his legs are shaky under him before he even gets to the bedroom door. By the time he reaches the bedroom proper, he’s debating whether it’s the Cataclysm or the alcohol that has him shaking. He’s weak-kneed and blinking back the stinging tears that blur his vision, skin crawling weirdly as he grasps the comforter and pulls at it. He hears the rustling of couch cushions and the creeping of his skin dials down, retreating as footsteps approach and Victor’s voice calls out cautiously, “Yuuri?” 

 

“M’in here.” Even his voice is flagging under the strain. He leans heavily against the mattress, “I was gonna get a blanket.”

 

“You’re cold?” Victor enters the bedroom looking worse for wear, his shirt is crumpled and his hair is sticking out at oddly endearing angles. For all that he’s impossibly ruffled, he’s observing Yuuri from the doorway with an assessing gaze that has him trying to straighten. “Then you should get into bed.”

 

“I was just going to bring the covers out… uh, for you.” He’s not sure why he’s blushing, but Victor’s face softens in the dull morning light.

 

“Well. There’s only one blanket, and you’re cold too. So maybe we could share…?” Victor works through the suggestion slowly, as though he’s voicing the thoughts as they come to him. 

 

Yuuri’s heart starts pounding heavily against his ribcage, Victor surely isn’t suggesting they sleep together? What could possibly make this situation any weirder? He goes on, brightening as he concludes. “It makes perfect sense since we can’t separate, and that way we’re both warm!”

 

“Um. I don’t think…” Yuuri tries, he’s still feeling groggy from the alcohol that’s being redistributed through his system by the thumping of his heart. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Victor.”

 

“Nonsense, it’s mutually beneficial Yuuri!” Victor moves into the room with a grin, “Come on, this way we both get to be warm, it’s too cold to be out in the suite right now and this bed is going to waste!” He peels the cover back, loosening Yuuri’s grip on it and hops into the bed fully clothed.

 

“Victor…” Yuuri hesitates, watching as Victor snuggles into the duvet with a grin. “I don’t-”

 

He really shouldn’t get into bed with his idol. He shouldn’t still be this fuzzy after only eight glasses of champagne. He shouldn’t because it’s too close, and hell, isn’t this whole situation pulling him far too close to Victor Nikiforov already?

 

“No arguments, Yuuri. It’s cold and we both need warming up!” Victor’s watching him from the bed, sheets pulled up to his chin and frowning suddenly, “Unless you don’t… trust me?” 

 

The eyebrow that’s arched at him is almost as sharp as the tone of Victor’s voice, the insinuation making Yuuri’s stomach churn. He doesn’t want to hear Victor doubting Yuuri’s thoughts about himself, he doesn’t want Victor to even foster the idea that that could be where his mind is going. It’s too close to too many teenaged daydreams he’d buried in his subconscious, now roaring to mind for the first time in years. Victor Nikiforov in his bed, looking up at him questioningly and waiting for the answer to a question Yuuri could never have expected him to ask. 

 

Did he trust Victor? 

 

Blindly, implicitly, and unendingly. 

 

It was shocking how easily he was willing to follow the other man’s lead - follow in his footsteps as part of this bizarre scenario they were living in. He would do anything Victor asked with a single minded devotion that ran strong with the fascination of a child’s adoration and a fervent need to show Victor he was worthy of being this close to such a legend. “No, that’s not it. I do, I just…”

 

“Yuuri. Get in the bed already.” Victor grouses, closing his eyes and settling into the blankets.

 

Yuuri gets in the bed.

 

If the last day hadn’t been illuminating enough to the effect Victor had upon him, the moment he’s closing the distance between them and settling stiffly against the mattress would have been an eye opening insight into the subject. He’s rigidly lying on the bed with his eyes wide open; he barely dares breathe for the worry of disturbing Victor- doesn’t dare relax for the fear of intruding even further into his space. He closes his eyes in an attempt to ease his way into sleep, senses still dialled up and focusing on Victor’s breathing beside him, noticing when it changes from steady sighing breaths into a huff. 

 

“Yuuri, you can’t sleep like that. You need to relax.” Victor’s voice is closer than he’d expected in the space of the bed, causing him to whip his face around on the pillow to find Victor frowning at him again. The sudden action had his head swimming sickeningly with the booze still saturating it. “What’s got you so tense? I can control myself even with a beautiful man in my bed, you know?”

 

It’s easy to brush aside Victor’s compliment, he’s sleepy and if Yuuri’s head is anything to go by, probably still a little drunk. He can’t tell Victor the turn of his thoughts, they’re too revealing on too many levels- but the surface reasons…

 

“I’m not used to sleeping beside someone, it’s… weird.” It’s the least of all the things that are causing the anxious turn of his mind right now, but it is there. The unfamiliar way the sheets move with Victor’s breathing, the knowledge that there’s another person beside him… Victor’s expression softens slightly and he huffs a laugh. It’s still not light enough to make out each detail of his face, but he looks subdued and tired.

 

“No. Me either.” His voice is soft, wistful. “I suppose jumping into bed with a stranger is uncomfortable too.”

 

It isn’t a question, not really but Yuuri nods in agreement.

 

“We should fix that then.” Victor struggles upright, then winces heavily. “Or maybe that can wait until my head stops attempting to break in two. I swear I’m usually better at drinking than this...” He groans into his hands dramatically and flops back into the pillow, his theatrics pulling a giggle from Yuuri’s throat easily.

 

“Ugh. Tell me about it, I feel like I drank twice as much as I did!” 

 

“Yuuri, it hurts and I hate it. Can you kiss it better?” Victor grins at him from across the pillows. He’s not sure what makes him fulfill the request; what idiotic self-destructive part of him has him leaning in, a hand landing on Victor’s jaw and his lips finding Victor’s hairline in a press that he quickly pulls away from. It had been glancing contact, a tiny point of connection, but Yuuri’s chest had expanded with the sudden giddy feeling of bubbling happiness that had his cheeks warming. His fingers are tingling again against Victor’s cheek, he’s too close to the other man to see his expression. Horror rises up, replacing the light giggly feeling that had filled his chest moments before, and Victor blinks up at him in shock.

 

“Oh.” Victor’s fingers find his wrist, fastening there lightly and the buzzing of his skin is redoubled. He can blame the alcohol, he thinks, or maybe the Cataclysm, or he could - Victor lifts Yuuri’s hand from his face gently, he’s looking at Yuuri as though he’s mesmerised. “That... It actually helped. How did you…?”

 

Victor hasn’t let go of his wrist, his fingers trace the bones lightly before the glide into his palm. The contact has his heart thumping all over again, “What?”

 

“You can feel that, right?” Victor tightens his fingers against the back of Yuuri’s hand for a millisecond that has sparks lighting under his skin, “It’s… it has to be the Cataclysm. Something to do with it, anyway.”

 

“Yeah…” He’s watching their joined hands as he lets his own thumb trace Victors knuckles. He doesn’t want to look at Victor, he doesn’t want to think about whatever the hell has happened to them. He wants to sleep for ten straight hours and wake up with this all gone away, free and clear to go back to Detroit and what? Finish his degree at the very least, but even if he continues skating there’s nothing to compete for anymore… He frees his fingers carefully, “We should sleep.”

 

He turns his back on Victor, pulling the covers up to his chin and tucking his traitorous fingers tightly under his chin. There’s a moment of quiet before Victor bids him goodnight, loaded with the words unspoken.

 

* * *

 

He’s still caught up in a dream that had him feeling like he was being pulled through rushing waters, his mind refusing to let go of the feeling of heavy limbs and muddy thoughts until he hears his name being spoken softly, bracketed by whispered Russian words he can’t fathom. Victor is sat in bed, leaning up against the pillows and muttering into his cellphone when Yuuri blinks himself back to consciousness.

 

Victor’s voice is musical in his native tongue, light and lilting in a way that the clunky words of their shared language didn’t truly capture. It was fluid, not halting as so many of their conversations were. Speaking in a second language left so much space for mistranslation, for hesitation that wasn’t present in the rapid flow of the conversation Victor was currently holding. Not that Victor’s English is  _ bad,  _ it’s just less fluent than his native tongue and sometimes Yuuri can feel the turning of wheels in his head while he struggles to translate the words he wishes to say. Yuuri is  sympathetic; before he'd taken up residence in Detroit he'd been the same way, patching together sentences carefully and parsing meanings that weren't there. 

 

Yuuri is lost in the sound of Victor speaking when it occurs to him he's basking in the opportunity afforded by their connection again, taking advantage of this sudden closeness to indulge in his obsession with Victor. He shouldn't be doing it, he should be trying to keep himself contained. There’s no telling how long the Cataclysm will be in effect; if tomorrow it might wear off and they can go their separate ways as relative strangers, or if it hadn’t already dropped from their shoulders and freed them until the moment they test the bond out again… 

 

Yuuri's wide awake now, mind churning over a hundred different issues that would have to be addressed throughout the day. How are they going to make whatever the hell  _ this _ is work…  Where are they going to go? Should he trail all over Russia with the most decorated athlete in their field and let go of his degree or insist they go back to Detroit so he can finish it up? What was even the point of returning to Detroit if he wasn’t skating though? 

 

He stiffens at the thought . Sometime over the course of the last two days he must have made the decision to hang up his skates; somewhere between watching his idol enrapture all of Sochi with his Exhibition and the announcement at the banquet, his subconscious had provided the solution to one of his problems.

 

His failure at the Grand Prix Finals had been mortifying — knowing his family and friends had awaited his performance only to have his anxiety and the news of Vicchan send him into a panic spiral. The resulting anxiety had taken down all of his well built walls and left him vulnerable on the ice. He couldn’t do it again. Without Nationals to work towards, he could focus solely upon finishing his degree, but would he even be able to if Victor insisted upon staying in his home country? Even if Victor didn’t insist on their being in Russia, how would their being in America work? He shared a dorm room with Phichit; they had one bathroom and a tiny couch that had cost them every spare cent of their loans to buy. There was barely space for the two of them and Phichit’s hamsters, let alone Victor tagging along too…

 

“Yuuri, you’re awake?” Victor’s voice startles him. Yuuri hadn’t noticed he’d been running his fingers through his hair, distractedly giving away not only his being awake, but also the fact that he was nervously ruminating. The lip biting might have been a giveaway too… Victor is looking down at him from his seat against his pillows, back against the headboard and holding his phone slightly away from his ear.

 

Yuuri nods in reply, sitting up on his elbows and letting the sheet pool in his lap. His shirt is creased and he’d loosened a few button sometime in the night, probably in response to the sudden change in temperature moving from the main room to the bedroom and sharing warmth with Victor. Victor is equally ruffled, his hair still sticking out at odd angles and his shirt untucked at the waist, ballooning around his hips with his sleeves pushed up to his elbows.

 

Victor offers Yuuri a small smile and returns to his conversation, his voice soft as he replies to whomever he’s talking to with a shrug. Victor seems at ease in himself just listening to the voice on the line and adding a comment or reply, minute changes in his expression thrown into focus as Yuuri grabs his glasses from the bedside. 

 

Yuuri busies himself with his own phone, he has a few notifications. There are messages from Phichit and Celestino he’s going to need to reply to, and a missed call from home that he quickly returns.

 

“Yu-topia Katsuki.” The voice is slightly breathless in answer, but Yuuri can’t help the grin that it pulls to his features. 

 

“Okaasan, it’s me.” 

 

“Yuuri! Two calls in three days, I’m honoured!” He can hear the playful edge that creeps into her voice and his smile redoubles.

 

“I had a missed call Mama.” He’s playing into her exuberance, but he can’t help it. He’d been trained out of his childish slang but knew it never failed to make her brighten.

 

“Ah yes, Mari wanted to ask you something but she’s out running errands with your father now, shall I tell her to call you back?” His mother asks brightly, Yuuri replies with a hummed affirmative that would earn him a sharp look if he was at home, “How’re you feeling Yuuri? Are you looking after yourself? I don’t want to think the news of Vicchan is making you feel bad…”

 

He winces at the reminder, then has a rising feeling of guilt. He’s barely had time to think about Vicchan passing, he’s been swept up in whatever this Cataclysm is and pushed the grief of losing his pet aside in its wake. He feels it now though, a heavy weight in his chest that has him bowing his head with his eyes prickling painfully. 

 

“I…” He’s blinking back the tears that are gathering and trying to fight down the shame that pushes at his conscience. He needs to explain himself, to reason away the guilt. It pours from him in a sudden burst, “I’m sorry Okaasan, I haven’t paid the proper respects to Vicchan. I- The Cataclysm has-”

 

“It has everyone distracted Yuuri, it’s understandable you haven’t been able to pray to Vicchan with everything that’s happening-” Hiroko’s voice is kind, she’s giving him an out but Yuuri can’t help the torrent of guilt that’s pouring forth.

 

“No, Okaasan- The Cataclysm, I was affected. I’m… stuck.” He struggles to put it into words, but there’s nothing stopping his honesty now. “I’m still in Sochi, but I was stuck to another skater- to Victor Nikiforov.”

 

“Yuuri! Why didn’t you tell us? Are you okay?” She’s not even reproachful, she sounds shocked and worried. 

 

“I’m okay, I’m safe and I’m not hurt. But we can’t move away from each other Mama.” His voice sounds small to his own ears; his mother breathes a sigh of relief at his answer.

 

“I’m glad you’re okay, but why didn’t you tell us? The news has been full of stories of Cataclysm pairs hurting each other. Minako has been calling every few hours to complain about her partner being irritating and not being able to part from her.” He can feel the weight of her worry all the way from Hasetsu, “Victor Nikiforov… He’s the one in your posters isn’t he? Is he being kind to you?”

 

“We’re both fine Mama, he’s uh… different than he seems in interviews.”

 

“Well you seem different in your interviews Yuuri, naturally he would too.” She huffs out a laugh at the thought of Yuuri’s terrible run of interviews over his career and Yuuri smiles weakly at the sound, “Are… This means coming home will be difficult, won’t it.” 

 

“Yes.” It’s already been four years since he’d returned to his hometown, finding the time and funds to fly home for holidays impossible as a student, and being stuck to Victor would make it even more difficult. Beside him Victor shifts slightly as he ends his call, their eyes catch as Victor hangs up and Yuuri’s heart thumps guiltily again.

 

“As long as you’re safe, as long as you’re healthy, you know we’re all supporting you.” He can hear the strain in her voice, but appreciates that she’s trying to make it easier for him. “And you never know, maybe your Victor will want to visit your hometown! I’ll tell Mari to call you once she gets back with your father... and be safe Yuuri. Stay in touch.”

 

“I will.” The call ends there, goodbyes and well wishes making up the last few seconds before the line is silenced.  He can feel the weight of Victor’s gaze as he stares at his phone’s dimming screen. Hearing his mother’s voice had made this whole problem even more real, even more impossible- Victor was a five time world champion who was at the top of his game and Yuuri was just Yuuri. How could he ever possibly demand anything from Victor? What right did he have to do such a thing? 

 

He could feel the telltale tightening in his gut that spoke volumes about how insurmountable his resolve was. Everything he had worked towards was due to the man beside him, he’d pushed himself forward for eleven years of his life because of him, how could he ask anything of him when Victor had given him so much without even being in his presence? He would do anything that Victor asked him, would follow him to the ends of the earth as they had joked only a few hours ago. He would make being in his unwanted presence as easy as possible for his idol, because what more could he do?

 

In return he’d know he’d done his best for Victor, been the best for Victor.

 

“Are you okay?” The question startles him from his ruminations, finding Victor looking at him worriedly. 

 

“I’m fine, it was my mother. I hadn’t had a chance to tell them. Not since the call the first night, and then we didn’t  _ know _ .” He give a halfhearted shrug with his right shoulder, he doesn’t want Victor to think he’s being overly emotional or weak but the fact he’s had no chance to even contact his family in the wake of the Cataclysm has him feeling fidgety. 

 

“You didn’t call them yesterday?

 

“Well there was your Exhibition, and the banquet and we were testing out the thing before all of that…”

 

“Yuuri, you should have just told me.” Victor is frowning at him, the look he’s giving is so direct and earnest Yuuri feels like he might cry all over again. 

 

“I just… You had a lot to do and I didn’t want to get in that way…”

 

“And yet that call took less than five minutes.” Victor’s tone is that of a parent scolding an errant toddler, imploring and stern. “Yuuri, we don’t know how long this thing is going to last and you’re already putting yourself aside? What if we’re stuck like this forever? Will you just brush off everything and follow me around like a ghost?”   
  
“That’s not what I’m doing! I’m just-”

 

“But you didn’t tell me you hadn’t told them... or that you needed to. What about your coach, have you told him yet?”

 

“Uh. No?”

 

“And he’s expecting to meet you at an airport in America today.” Victor buries his face in his hands with a rough laugh. “We haven’t even discussed anything, we don’t know what we’re doing…” 

 

“Well we haven’t had the time.”

 

“You’re right, but we have to now. You have a flight back to the US today? What time is your flight?” Yuuri nods at the question, mumbling his flight details to his fingers as they twist in his lap, waiting for the inevitable suggestion that he cancels the journey and they go to St. Petersburg. Victor listens to the details carefully, frowning as Yuuri gives him a bare bones answer. “What’s in America? Apart from your coach?”

 

He’s not expecting the question, so it takes him a moment to think up the reply. His initial thought is to say nothing, to write off the things he’s been working for for years and let Victor make the decisions, but Victor’s frown is deepening the longer he takes to reply and he can almost hear what Phichit would be yelling if he was here.

 

“I’m working on a degree in business management.” Victor nods and urges him on with a smile, Yuuri hesitates momentarily before he continues. “And… Phichit.”

 

Victor’s quirks an eyebrow, “Your boyfriend?” 

 

There’s a weight to the question that has Yuuri’s heart redoubling it’s pace and the weirdest hollow feeling filling his chest, he blinks at the foreign feeling. “No. No, Phichit is my rinkmate.”

 

“Your rinkmate?”

 

“Yeah, we room together. He’s a good friend.” 

 

Victor nods again, a finger to his lips and his eyes closed as he ponders over Yuuri’s words. It takes him less than a minute before he’s exclaiming and pulling out his phone with a bright smile on his face. “Perfect. I’ll just come with you then!”

 

“Come with me where?” Yuuri has a sinking feeling he already knows the answer, but Victor doesn’t lift his attention from the screen, he’s tapping away rapidly and smiling brightly to himself. “Victor?”

 

“To Detroit, of course. You have a degree to finish after all!” He grins across the bed at Yuuri, turning his cell for Yuuri to see the booking confirmation. “No first class left, but I managed to get on the same flight, isn’t that a relief!”

 

“What…?” Yuuri’s unsure of what Victor is doing, but he isn’t given a chance to question further. Victor is up and out of bed, springing into action and encouraging Yuuri to start packing as he heads to the shower with a jaunty wave and a smile.

 

* * *

 

The news that Victor is heading to Detroit, rather than St Petersburg, gets mixed reactions. Yuuri calls Phichit in a panic while Victor is in the shower and is given a pep talk about how he can make it through this crap if he stays strong. Celestino gives him a few choice words about Yuuri being an idiot for not telling him but greets the news of Victor’s impending arrival with a short laugh and a promise to block them rink time together. 

 

Yuuri is packing the last few stray parts of his clothing, having barely used his case in the few days since the incident, when he hears the tinny sound of an angry Russian coach chewing out his skater. Victor isn’t shaken by the assault to his ears, laughing and replying something Yuuri can’t make out which has Plisetsky tutting and muttering under his breath as he scrolls through his instagram on the couch. Plisetsky had taken the news with gritted teeth and a shrug, dropping a few choice insults for good measure as he lines his cases up by the door carefully and ignores them for the duration of their haphazard packing.

 

The suddenness of his plans changing and the tempest that is Victor’s packing skills have Yuuri’s head spinning by the time they’re wheeling their cases through the hotel lobby, Plisetsky following behind him and Victor as they locate the taxi they’d nabbed at the last minute. Hauling the bags into the car takes their combined effort and possibly a physics degree to then get the luggage organised and settled into the trunk. Victor is unhelpfully throwing his cases into the space and Yuri is hitting Yuuri in the shins as he tries to play case jenga, finally getting them squashed into the trunk with a sigh. The car ride to the airport is quiet, Yuri staring out of the window and Victor scrolling through his phone again. Yuuri settles back into the leather of the taxi and closes his eyes tiredly, something about the pair has him exhausted before he even starts, and he can’t even imagine how he’s going to go about settling into a regular college routine with Victor steaming along in his wake.

 

Yuri Plisetsky isn’t suited to goodbyes; they’ve left the taxi and headed over to check-in, getting Yuri’s bags checked before heading to get their own cases checked with minimal fuss. Yuuri and Victor’s gate is miles beyond Yuri’s and they hesitate in saying their goodbyes. Yuri hasn’t spoken to either of them beyond insults since the day of the exhibition skate; Victor tries to be cheerful, but it only falls flat and he retreats a few feet away in an awkward shuffle of feet. It’s more Yuri’s reaction than Victor’s that has Yuuri approach the other skater after sifting through his pockets. 

 

“What’s that for?” Plisetsky is just as aggressive to him as he had been to Victor, but Yuuri gives him a bright smile rather than retreating and gestures to Yuri with his phone.

 

“I thought we could keep in touch, if you like.”

 

“Why would I want to keep in touch with an idiot like you?”

 

_ He acts like a cornered kitten when he’s scared. _ The thought surfaces, and combined with Plisetsky’s animal printed outfit, it seems more than fitting. Yuuri doesn’t drop his hand, he presses his cell into Yuri’s hand and shrugs. “Maybe you’ll get bored, or want to talk to someone. Either way you can text me.”

 

Plisetsky gives him a disgusted look, but enters his information quickly. He doesn’t say goodbye as he turns away and heads to the seats littered around his gate, but the set of his shoulders is a little more relaxed. Yuuri takes it as a win and rejoins Victor to head to their own flight.

 

* * *

 

The flights back to Detroit are like a new level of torture; not only is he negotiating transferring flights with a person who can’t be more than a few feet from him, but the overnight flights are impossible for Yuuri to sleep on, so he loses himself to worrying over every detail of their situation. He’s turning over the facts in his mind like a rubik's cube he’s trying to solve. Somehow he’s ended up with Victor attached to him by the hip. Somehow he had to go back to Detroit and function as a regular student while dragging Victor along with him, and he has yet to break the news to Celestino that he’s going to quit training to work on the last month of his degree in earnest.

 

Phichit is going to be livid with him for not consulting him. Celestino is probably going to try and argue him back under his care. And Victor? Would he care? It’s not like they’d spoken about the GPF further than discussing how they’d go about trying to work around this weird bond enough to get his exhibition skate over and done with. Would Victor even have an opinion on his leaving the ice? 

 

Victor who would be staying in Yuuri and Phichit’s tiny suite, who’d have to be included in the chores and weekly shopping; would he have a different diet than them? Would he be able to survive sleeping on a pull out futon they’d picked up at the Goodwill for thirty bucks? How in the hell was it going to  _ work _ ?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter - Detroit and all the fun it brings with it! Yuuri might even attempt actual communication with his Cataclysm buddy! Or... 
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed the chapter, and I'm loving the idea's you're all throwing out in the comments! Thank you for reading guys, I'll see you in a week!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm Late, by like a day! Sorry for the delay guys. Life got on top of me for a second but I'm here now! 
> 
>  
> 
> *Glances at rating*
> 
> *Glances at tags*
> 
> Seems legit?

 

Landing in Detroit doesn’t relieve the tension, nor does hailing a taxi in the driving snow that’s falling heavily around them. Victor spends the cab ride watching the slush-filled streets pass in tired silence, it does nothing to calm Yuuri’s rising anxiety. He can’t help wonder what Victor’s thinking, if he’s regretting following Yuuri halfway across the planet and to the grey skyline of Detroit in the murky cloud covered sunset.

 

Greeting Phichit alleviates it slightly, especially when he welcomes them with food and broad smiles, rather than the worried looks and rounds of questions he’d expected. Yuuri appreciates the gesture, he’s exhausted from the flight and the cumulative effort of the last week that's finally crashing down on him in one fell swoop. His body feels heavy in a way he usually attributes to weeks of hard training, but this time it's coupled with a mental exhaustion that has him unable to string full sentences together.

 

“You look wiped out.” Phichit hip checks him beside the fridge where they’re stowing away the leftovers, Victor having retreated the short distance to the small futon that’ll be his bed for the foreseeable future. “How’re you even still standing?”

 

“I have no idea. I feel like I’m going to drop any second. It’s been a stressful few days.” Yuuri’s being brutally honest, but he can be like that with Phichit. He’s been Yuuri’s rinkmate for a year and his room-mate for three months. “I’ve barely had time to think about Vicchan with everything happening with the Cataclysm.”

 

“Yeah, and I bet having Victor all up in your business hasn’t helped.”

 

“Yeah, no that’s been, uh. Jarring.” Yuuri lowers his voice in reply, hoping Phichit will match his pitch, because no doubt Victor will be able to hear from less than ten feet away. He doesn’t look up at his name or at Yuuri’s reply though, so Yuuri thinks they might be safe.

 

“How does it work? The Cataclysm thing?”

 

“I have no idea, it’s like… I dunno, there’s a connection between us? We can’t see it, but like, it’s physical. It hurts if we’re too far from each other-”

 

“It hurts? How?” Phichit asks with a frown.

 

“Uh, like the world’s worst migraine and feeling like my guts are gonna be wrenched out.”

 

“Wow, ouch.” He winces at the description, “Does it hurt Victor too?”

 

“I think so? We haven’t really talked about it properly.” He shrugs, “I mean I know he feels the touch thing.”

 

“The  _ touch _ thing?”

 

Yuuri blames his tiredness for even mentioning it, he hadn’t meant to but Phichit is like a dog with a bone, questioning relentlessly while Yuuri busies himself making tea. There’s no point in trying to sidetrack or ignore him. Phichit is intensely focused on pulling the details from Yuuri  _ right now. _ So, Yuuri relents and tells him about how they might have drunk a little too much at the banquet and been a little touchy; Phichits eyebrows disappear further and further into his bangs with each statement.

 

“That’s just… weird.” Phichit’s face twists into a frown. “But you  _ can _ be apart right? I mean Victor did his exhibition skate and everything.”

 

“Yeah, we practiced distances for it in the hotel.” He rubs at his eyes beneath his glasses and suppresses a yawn. “Ugh, I feel like crap.”

 

“Bed, Yuuri. You’re dead on your feet.”

 

“In a minute, I need to find bedding for Victor-”

 

“Nope, I can do that. You get to bed and leave us to it okay?”

 

Phichit’s giving him a look that brooks no argument, so Yuuri allows himself to be herded to his bedroom door, shooting a goodnight to Victor that is waved away by the other skater. He doesn’t undress further than pulling off his jeans and socks, settling into his bed with a huff of breath that turns into a jaw breaking yawn on the out-breath.

 

* * *

 

 

The sound of Yuuri’s room’s door opening pulls him from sleep, his face turning towards it before he’s even opened his eyes or reached for his glasses. Not that it matters, he knows who it is before he’s fully aware of it. He knows because he can feel that buzzing under his skin, the incessant pulling that has him straightening and watching as Victor makes his way over to the bed, passing images of himself plastered on the walls without comment. He’s in a rumpled pair of sweats and a loose shirt that looks well-loved, the collar stretched out and showing off the jut of a collarbone.

 

“I… can’t sleep.” He sits on the edge of the mattress gently. Yuuri can smell the lingering traces of his cologne in the air, his fingers are itching to reach out...

 

“Is the futon that bad?” He clutches at his duvet tightly, forestalling the urge to touch Victor and really fuck things up.

 

“I’m just… unsettled. New places can do that.”

 

“Can I help?”

 

“Could I…” Victor hesitates for a moment, looking nervous. “Could I join you? It’s just that I slept so well last night and…”

 

He’s not sure what comes over him - maybe it’s the worried crinkle between Victor brows or the exhaustion of the days compiling and making him loopy- but he’s lifting the sheets before he can think of alternatives and scooting back to the wall to make space for Victor on his cramped bed. Whatever tension Victor had been holding drops at the action, his shoulders slumping and he smiles tiredly. “Thank you, Yuuri.”

 

In a weird echo of the night in Sochi, they bump knees and tangle their limbs for a moment before settling into the the quiet of the room, Yuuri manages not to jolt at the feeling of his skin buzzing wherever it meets Victor’s. They’re a lot closer than they had been in Sochi; Yuuri slams his eyes shut and pushed himself further into the wall, hoping for another inch of space that seemingly doesn’t exist. Instead he manages to tangle their legs together in the motion of pushing away and there are sparks tripping their way up his legs, Victor’s intake of breath is sharp in the silence it breaks.

 

“Yuuri?” He can’t answer, the heat that's radiating from their contact is pooling in unfortunate places. He tries to pry his legs from Victor’s, but the other man anchors his feet around Yuuri’s, dragging one up the length of his calf in a sweep that has Yuuri tensing. The purposeful press of skin on skin has the sparks redoubling, emanating from the point of contact in a burst of sensation that Yuuri is helpless but to push into.

 

“What does it feel like…?” 

 

Yuuri shakes his head, eyes still squeezed shut at the onslaught of sensation. He lets himself fall into it, feeling the heat curling in his groin as he traces the lines of Victor’s calf with his toes. Victor’s breath is harsh and quick, echoed in perfect unison with his own.

 

“Yuuri… Look at me.” 

 

He doesn’t want to, he doesn’t want to acknowledge whatever is happening here, but Victor’s breathless plea has him itching to see. 

 

There’s a blush rising on Victor’s cheeks, his eyes wide and lips parted over his stuttering breath. Yuuri wonders for a moment what he looks like to Victor, if he’s looking equally undone, but the thought is pushed far back into his mind when Victor’s hand creeps into his line of sight inching closer to Yuuri until it catches his cheek in an open palmed press that sends his blush into overdrive. Victor’s eyes widen further and a small ‘oh’ drops into the space between them as they watch each other, caught up in the sensation. 

 

It devolves from there really, Yuuri mirrors Victor in grasping bare skin, sending sparks up his arms and into his abdomen like they’re collecting there. He trails his fingers down Victor’s neck and over the exposed collarbone in a sweep that has him pressing closer. Victor’s free hand finds his waist, pushing up into the hem of his t-shirt and so, so close to the place he’s dreading and wishing Victor would touch him in equal measure…

 

“Yuuri…” His name on Victor’s lips is a purr as he frees Victor from his shirt, morbidly curious as to just how it would feel to have their chests pressing together. If their touches so far have been anything to go by then it’ll be amazing… Once his own shirt is lost to the depths of his bedroom floor he tests his theory, rolling them and bracketing Victor’s legs under his knees to lower himself. Victor is watching his progress with rapt attention and harsh breaths that Yuuri feels against his cheek as he gets closer and closer to the man. 

 

He hasn’t thought this through, he hasn’t considered what it means to be pressed chest to hip with Victor while he’s sporting a boner that’s being less than subtle about its presence. He hasn’t thought about the press of their groins nor the heat in his abdomen that roars up into a burning and searing need as their cocks aligned, Victor’s length tenting his sweats in obvious arousal. He hasn’t thought about just how intuitive all of this touching has been and just how close their faces will be the moment their chests touch and his spine stiffens at the onslaught of sensation.

 

He’s taking ragged breaths that push their chests closer, watching the way Victor’s eyes fall closed at the feeling as his hips buck in tiny twitches against Yuuri. It’s too much. It’s not enough. He presses into the jut of Victors hips, unable to stop himself. He’s watching Victor’s teeth bite into his lip and stifle a moan that’s caught in his throat, he’s watching _ Victor Nikiforov _ falling apart under him as they push and pull each other into mindless pleasure.

 

Their faces are inches apart, Victor’s eyes half lidded and cheeks dusted pink. Of all the boundaries they’re crossing, Yuuri can’t bring himself to close the gap. He plants his face in Victor’s shoulder instead as they work each other into climax, gripping hands and panting breaths stuttering as they go over the edge together.

 

* * *

 

The orgasm pulls him from his sleep, the feeling of tipping back into consciousness with a grunt that echoes back from the walls of his room, hips pressing into the mattress firmly as he finishes his first wet dream in years. 

 

He’d thought it was real. 

 

It had  _ felt _ real. 

 

He’d felt the searing touch of Victor’s fingers trailing over his skin, felt the press of their cocks as they’d moved against each other. Yet the only evidence he has of it is the sticky come cooling in his underwear, his ragged breathing, and the way his shirt is sticking to his chest with perspiration. 

 

Well, fuck.

 

* * *

 

Victor is huddled under a mess of blankets when Yuuri finally gathers the courage to leave his bedroom the next morning. Phichit is parked up at the tiny kitchen island with a bowl of cereal and his laptop cracked open in front of him, he looks up at Yuuri’s dishevelled appearance and raises his eyebrows. “Rough night was it?” 

“You could say that.” Yuuri shrugs, he’s not planning on spilling the details of his incredibly embarrassing dream to Phichit, especially not with Victor only feet away. Conscious or not he doesn’t want Victor hearing just how obsessed he is with him. “I need a shower and about three coffees before I’m human.”

 

“Milk, no sugar.” The request comes from the pile of pillows and blankets that Victor is bedding into, turning and stretching lazily as he sits up. Yuuri jumps in his skin, Phichit stifles a laugh behind his hand. 

 

“Okay, fine. I’ll do coffee, Yuuri go shower and I’ll allow our guest to choose from our extensive cereal collection. Mr. Nikiforov, can I interest you in granola, or are you more of a muesli guy?” The attempt at levity eases some of Yuuri’s discomfort, being stood in his lounge in boxers and a shirt that’s stiff with sweat from the ridiculous dream has him squirming. Phichit’s being a little larger than usual in his humour, probably because while Yuuri is the fanboy of the two of them- his walls bearing the evidence of his preoccupation- Phichit has also looked up to Victor in his own way for years.

 

The shower helps to clear Yuuri not only of the physical evidence of his night, but eases some of the tension that’s built up. It’s a little easier to ignore just how real it had felt in the moment now the sun is shining and he’s moving around, unlike last night when he’d lost sleep over the dream for a good half hour after cleaning himself up hastily with a wad of tissues. He’d heard Victor shuffling around while he fretted and couldn’t help but worry that the other man had heard the tail end of his dreaming. It hadn’t been easy to fall back to sleep.

 

With the questionable water pressure beating down on his shoulders, it’s easy to brush off the dream. As real as it had felt, it was only natural that his subconscious had thrown out such a visceral dream. It wasn’t the first of it’s kind to focus on Victor; sure it was unusual these day, but the repeated exposure of the last three days was enough to have pulled those buried dreams back to the fore. It's understandable, forgivable, and Yuuri isn’t intending to punish himself for a perfectly natural reaction to being swamped by his Big Gay Crush’s presence.

 

When he emerges from the bathroom, both Phichit and Victor are reading something on the laptop; Phichit beckons him over with a wave. 

 

“Whats up?”

 

“More news on the Cataclysm.” Phichit turns the laptop screen so Yuuri can see it and he skims the CNN webpage. The article is declaring that all of those affected by the Cataclysm are required to attend interviews, register with their home states, submit themselves for tests… 

 

Yuuri’s heart rate picks up, thumping in his chest. Just how much was this thing going to take over his life? He’d dragged his idol across continents on the basis that he’d be finishing up his degree, and… then what? As if it wasn’t already ruining Victor’s skating season enough, they were stuck miles away from his home rink and both here on a temporary basis - Victor’s green card shiny and newly stamped. 

 

“So we have to fill out a form and attend an interview?” Victor is still squinting at the screen, carefully reading each word.

 

“Looks that way.” Phichit shrugs easily, clicking on the link at the end of the article to register their status. “Do you guys want some privacy for this?” He looks between them, gaze lingering on Yuuri where he’s frozen with his towel still clutched in his grasp tightly.

 

“What do they need to know?” 

 

“Uh- everything apart from what you had for breakfast. Jeez, they want blood types, travel histories, and genealogies as well as personal histories.” Phichit is scrolling the length of the form, “I guess you guys will have to handle this alone, I have a class in thirty minutes and you guys need to regroup.”

 

“Why do you think they expect so much information?” Victor is still frowning at the screen. 

 

“Probably trying to narrow down commonalities between the people affected.” Phichit shrugs, he closes the laptop with a snap and drums his fingers on the case for a second, looking between them. “You’re going to have to get it over and done with you know.”

 

Victor eyes Yuuri, expression inscrutable before he nods curtly. “Yes. I suppose there’s a lot to be done today. Yuuri, do you have to contact the University?”

 

“Uh, I guess?” He really hasn’t thought about this, he should have thought about this-

 

“And I should check in with Yakov and see if the FFKK has said anything, they might be a little less than impressed with me.” He huffs a laugh. “Celestino will probably expect some of your time today as well, Yuuri.”

 

“So looks like you guys will be booked out for the day.” Phichit is over-exerting his cheerful personality to offset Yuuri’s reticence and it shows in the too wide-smile, but Victor doesn’t seem to notice. 

 

Yuuri is at least self-aware enough to know that he’s putting strain on every relationship he’s in right now, but he can’t seem to find words to cover any of what he feels. There’s a monumental task ahead of him, there’s loose threads that need gathering, and he doesn’t have enough hands to hold them all… his chest feels tight all of a sudden, but he stamps down the sensation. He can’t allow himself to have a meltdown with Victor right there, sipping on lukewarm instant coffee and watching him carefully.

 

Phichit excuses himself with a wave and a smile, the door closing heavily behind him and leaving Yuuri standing beside Victor, hair still dripping. He takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly, grounding himself. He can do this, one task at a time and not breakdown in front of Victor at the same time, if he just keeps his shit together.

 

“Do you want to contact the University first, or Celestino?” Victor drops his chipped mug into the sink with a thump.

 

“Maybe we should do the form first?” 

 

One thing at a time. First he has to get his laptop and bring it into the living room, and then pull up the CNN news page…

  
  


It takes them two hours and several Trans-Atlantic calls to get the form filled out, Victor calling his parents for detailed familial backgrounds and Yuuri calling his own for the the year he’d come down with the flu as a child. They blushingly (on Yuuri’s part) get through the sexual health and previous partners sections, and laugh at the travel histories due to the sheer number of details they’re having to add - they end up pulling out passports to use visa stamps, each having accrued an alarming number in so few years. For all that Yuuri has been an avid fan of Victor’s for years, he’d never really thought too deeply about the minutiae of his life; now he’s been given a crash course in all the banal details of Victor Nikiforov and he felt a little like he’s been swamped with information.

 

Once the ridiculous form is finally completed, they send it away, Victor giving the laptop a small wave as the screen changes to confirm the receipt of the document. Yuuri just sighs heavily and slumps back into the futon’s deep cushions.

 

“That’s one thing done. What’s next?” Victor stretches, cracking his neck and settling back beside Yuuri. 

 

“The college I guess, I’m going to have to renegotiate my finals again if I can’t leave you behind, aren’t I?”

 

“Why Yuuri, are you saying I’m imposing?” Victor twists to face him, frowning and looking crestfallen.

 

“That’s not what I-”

 

“And I thought we were doing quite well, considering the circumstances…” The words sound like they’re burning Victor’s tongue as they fall from his mouth, face twisting.

 

“Victor, I- I didn’t mean it like that!” Yuuri’s panicking, for all that they have no choice but to go along with their weird situation there’s no way he wants Victor to think he doesn’t want him around. He’s nice, after all. Nothing like the primped and perfected Victor who’s been the darling of the Figure Skating world as long as Yuuri has taken an interest. No, Victor is a bit dorky, giggly when he’s drank one too many flutes of champagne, and ingratiating to a point that should be alarming because Yuuri just  _ isn’t _ . 

 

Yuuri should be thanking whomever could possibly be blamed for this Cataclysm on bended knee for the chance to even breathe the same air as his idol, and Victor shouldn’t ever feel like he’s not welcome. Victor should… stop repressing the laughter that’s making his shoulders shake and his eyes prick with tears because Yuuri has exactly zero filter and might have accidentally said at least some of that out loud.

 

Shit.

 

“Wow! I had no idea you were such a fan of mine Yuuri. I mean I  _ knew _ , I’ve seen your skating after all, but I’m touched-”

 

“Shut up, Victor-”

 

“No, this is far too fun! Look how red you’ve gone!” Victor presses a finger to Yuuri’s cheek and sparks cascade across the skin, creeping down his jaw and across his neck in a way that has him shuddering. Victor looks fascinatedly at his fingers for a second, before he runs one over the curve of Yuuri’s cheek again in a testing sweep.

 

Yuuri’s breath catches loudly in his throat. Victor’s fingers don’t leave his cheek and Yuuri is forcibly reminded of his dream, the way the fingers of Victor’s hand had gripped his skin which had him rolling them and pinning Victor beneath him -

 

Victor's fingers skim over his jawline in a sick mimicry of his dream and he feels the answering thrill running the length of his spine, the heat that pools all too tellingly in his abdomen and settles like a warming weight. Victor still hasn't stopped watching the progress of his fingers, they ghost up and across his lower lip. It catches, dry and anxiety bitten, on a digit and Yuuri’s breath stutters out over it.

 

Victor blinks heavily, retracting his hand as though his fingers are burning and mutters an apology. “I should call Yakov.” 

 

He doesn’t look at Yuuri as he pulls out his phone, and Yuuri takes another halting breath. That was…  _ something _ .

 

He fishes his own phone from the depths of the sofa - its fallen into the depths of the pillows Victor had been using, forgotten in their attempts to finish off the forms and preoccupation with whatever the hell _ that  _ had been.

 

He’s calling Celestino before he really notices he’s got the phone pressed up to his face, a little too hard and a little too shakily. 

 

Another breath.

 

“Ciao, ciao!”

 

“Celestino, hi.” He doesn’t know what to say…

 

“Did you get in alright last night Yuuri? How’re you feeling?” Celestino is cheerful to a fault and always takes good care of his students; Yuuri appreciates the sentiment. “Is Nikiforov giving you any trouble? Do I need to have words with him when you’re in for training?”

 

“Uh- No, that’s fine. No trouble I promise coach!”

 

“Good! I managed to block you out two hours tomorrow morning. You’ll probably want to run down and try and burn off some of the spare weight you picked up before the GPF!” Celestino chuckles at that, Yuuri can imagine his eyes twinkling.

 

“Uh, yeah… I guess.”

 

“I’m sure Nikiforov won’t mind tagging along after you, I hope his stamina is up to it!” Another chuckle, Yuuri wishes he would just yell at him for failing and for ending up in this stupid predicament. He wishes someone would be hard on him instead of treating him nicely all the time.

 

“I - I’ll see you in the morning coach.” 

 

“You’re booked from eight until ten. See you tomorrow! Ciao ciao!”

 

* * *

 

Instead of calling the University, they decide to head out to the Student Support office. Victor is chirpy and light again when he suggests they stretch their legs, and Yuuri feels like a caged thing to the point that just moving might alleviate some of the symptoms. 

 

Victor asks him a hundred questions on their way through the campus; what is it like studying so far from home? What made him choose Detroit over any other University? Does he like the city? Where is his favorite place to eat? Yuuri tries to keep up, to answer every question to the fullest, but he’s distracted and the fresh air is doing little to counteract how full his head feels.

 

There, on his tiny second hand futon, in his tiny college dorm room, Victor Nikiforov had made him… what? It was just - touching. Fingers on skin, why the hell did it feel like a hundred firecrackers had been set off in his skull? He tries to remember the feeling of Victor’s fingers on his lip. Victor who is keeping in step with him and watching the passing of students with interest, huddled in a thick coat and smiling when Yuuri talks. 

 

_ What the hell is this? _

 

_ They’re stuck together.  _

 

_ They’re Cataclysm Buddies for the foreseeable future.  _

 

_ They’re fellow competitors who had never spoken a word to each other before Sochi. _

 

_ That’s all this is and all it should be.  _

 

Yuuri steels himself as they approach the campus admin building. He pushes the thoughts swirling in his skull to the side and focuses. One task at a time. Right now he has to declare himself to the university and find some way to negotiate around his finals, and then he has to train in the morning. Then he has to talk to Celestino about his future, somehow. The glass doors part for them automatically, Victor sending him a small reassuring smile when their eyes catch and he ducks his head at the small blush that rises in his cheeks. 

 

The admin building is in sheer pandemonium, to put it mildly.

 

The waiting room is absolutely packed with annoyed looking students, there are staff running to and fro behind the reception desk and one harried looking woman greets them with a tablet clutched to her chest.

 

“Which one of you is ours?” The woman frowns between them.

 

“I’m sorry?” Yuuri doesn’t mean to sound so taken aback, but the woman only gives a small aggrieved sigh and continues.

 

“Student. Which one of you is enrolled?”

 

“Him.” Victor points. He’s frowning at the woman but offers no more than that.

 

“Name?” When Yuuri answers she inputs something into her tablet. “Okay brilliant. Fill this in and- No, wait. Nevermind that.” She stops mid instruction to stare down at the tablet more closely. “You’ve already done that bit so head on to the third room down the hall on the left-”

 

“What? Where are we going?” Yuuri can barely keep up with the women's brisk manner.

 

“You’ve already filled in the paperwork- online. Now you have to attend a physical and get a Cataclysm Committee Pass, so that’ll be issued once the meeting is over- Then you can see the Student Support unit who’ll help with your studies schedule and-” 

 

Oh. Okay they’re going to get tested? 

 

“You’ve got all of that already?” Victor questions, eyes narrowing at the woman.

 

“Well with a Cataclysm this size there are precautions and strategies already in place, it’s just a case of enacting them - and the process is entirely voluntary, but class scheduling and special dispensations depend upon you registering and submitting to interview, so…” She shrugs with a vague gesture to the hallway. “It’s up to the pair of you if you go in for it, but it’s all in your favor if you do.”

 

Victor spares Yuuri a searching glance. Yuuri understands it without having to even think about it. If they want to get through whatever the hell this is they need to be a united front, and if Yuuri wants to continue his degree he needs to go through with all of the red tape they throw at him.

 

He gives Victor a small nod. 

 

The woman relaxes incrementally and gives them a reassuring smile. “Well, through the doors with you then.” She smiles again, a dismissal this time and sends them on with a wave.

 

In the seclusion of the corridor, Yuuri lets out a huffed breath that catches Victor’s attention. “You okay?”

 

Is he? Well he’s not  _ bad _ per se, just unsettled by all of the information being piled on him at once. He’s feeling worn down by the woman’s brusque manner and the invasive questioning he’s expecting from whatever interview they’re going into -

 

“Stressed? If I’m honest. This is… a lot all at once.” Yuuri pushes his glasses back up his nose from where they’ve slipped down. “It’s not like we have much choice though.”

 

“True. But I know what you mean- I haven’t had a second to catch my breath since Saturday.” Victor gives him a wry smile, it’s a small thing but Yuuri can see the tiredness behind it. “When is your usual rest day?”

 

“Uh-”

 

“Mr. Katsuki?” A man's head pokes out of a door further down the hallway, eyes lighting up when they land on the pair. “Oh! Hi there, you’re with me first, I’m Danny!” He speeds towards them at an alarming rate, sticking his hand out at Yuuri to shake, “I can’t believe I’m getting to meet you! And you Mr. Nikiforov, of course! I can’t believe you’ve been affected by this bu-” The man cuts himself off and takes a deep breath, smiling apologetically, “Sorry, I’m usually more professional, I swear… I just didn’t expect to have a pair of world class athletes in my workload today!” The man smiles brightly again and laughs at himself. “Follow me and I’ll get you started off, no problem!”

 

The interview is only marginally less uncomfortable than their first interaction. Danny is exuberant about covering every part of the Cataclysm event in detail, referencing their answers against a sheaf of papers in his hand and jotting notes. Between startling bursts of professionalism, he exclaims over Yuuri’s loss at Sochi, the fact that he’s meeting two of his favorite skaters, and that they were in such a predicament to begin with. It’s exhausting and trying Yuuri’s patience, but Victor is bright and happy and exclaiming along with the man, even getting into an argument about the PCS in the World Figure Skating Championship last season.

 

Victor’s effervescent personality is easing the burden of conversation from Yuuri’s shoulders, and cutting some of the awkwardness from the interview with easy smiles. Yuuri finds himself watching Victor interact with the man, rather than focusing on the matter at hand. It’s like watching a pro at work, seeing Victor talk like this. His charm shines through the stilted atmosphere that would have had Yuuri curling in on himself, and instead his ready smile has Yuuri adding in his own small, dry-humoured comments before the end. By the time they leave the office, Danny is even more enamoured by the pair of them, if possible, and Yuuri is far more relaxed than those moments that had pushed his barriers up so high only thirty minutes before. 

 

They’re sent onwards, to the next office where a doctor asks them incredibly intrusive questions which have Yuuri blushing heavily and Victor answering in non-committal half answers; they’re asked to walk the hallway and see the distance they can manage between them. They’re moved on to a psychiatrist who treats the pair of them as though they’re made of glass and is full of smiles and hopeful sentiments, barely bothering to look at the paperwork on her lap as she watches the pair of them. Yuuri is almost relieved when they’re sent back to Danny’s tiny office and his broad smile.

 

“Hey! Welcome back, how are you guys getting on?” Danny is tapping away on a tablet between darting them concerned looks. “The quacks didn’t get you down?”

 

“Well, I can’t say it was a welcomed intrusion, but it’s over?” Yuuri shrugs, Victor nods and slumps back into his chair from earlier. 

 

“Yeah, it’s not fun, but we gotta tick all of the boxes and stuff for insurance. The red tape’ll kill ya, right?” Danny chuckles, “So, next steps - we’ve established you’re definitely affected, so I’m getting assigned as your case worker, and you’ll be moved into the Cataclysm co-op housing project as soon as you’re willing to move - if you need the space of course, but most of the students affected have had to pick up a place because the college dorms don’t come equipped for extra bodies.”

 

“The what now?”

 

“Co-op housing, it’s not as bad as it sounds I promise - it was set up in every major city after the Ohio incident, so that’s an option, unless you already have the space?” The pair of them shake their heads and Danny claps his hands together. “Okay, brilliant! Then I can get you guys an apartment for the duration, or until you find somewhere you’re more comfortable. You guys can head over to Student Support now and discuss Yuuri’s studies, I’ll be in touch!” 

 

He’s typing rapidly on his tablet now, tiny frown between his brows and shuffling papers again.

 

The appointment with Student Support follows a similar vein, but this time it’s Yuuri taking the lead, with Victor throwing in mild statements of agreement and smiles whenever he hesitates. They negotiate filling in the gaps, the last few semesters having fallen by the wayside due to his training regimen, and discuss provisions for their situation. It’s calm, logical, and focused; Yuuri can only begin to imagine what it might have been like if Victor hadn’t been there by his side helping him through it, he could almost shudder at the thought. The Student Support Officer sends them off with a cheery wave and a smile, his card having found its way into both of their hands as part of their departure.

 

Victor is all smiles as they head out to the campus grounds again, asking a hundred more questions about Yuuri’s life in Detroit. Yuuri finds himself willingly filling in the gaps, Victor’s mood catching and lifting him until he feels like skipping. It’s all been so  _ easy _ .

 

He laughs a little at just how amazing the day has been.

 

* * *

 

The following day is less easy.

 

He’s woken by Phichit swanning into his room breezily, throwing his curtains open and ruthlessly chirping, “Good morning, sunshine! You have a date with our wonderful coach and a mile and a half to run before you get to it! Up, up, up!”

 

Yuuri squints against the weak Detroit morning light, pawing at his bedside table for his glasses and barely stifling a groan. “No.”

 

“Yes, Yuuri!” Phichit is impossibly happy for this time in the morning. 

 

“I don’t wanna.” He’s acting like a whiny brat, but he’s allowed to when it’s just him and Phichit. 

 

“Up!” Phichit grasps the covers and pulls, Yuuri grabs them back and they’re in the middle of an epic tug of war battle, only broken up by Victor tapping on the door lightly and asking if they need assistance. Victor is polite to a fault when they emerge, not commenting on Yuuri’s flushed face, nor Phichit’s mussed up hair. He’s helping himself to breakfast with a small smile at the pair of them, and Yuuri can’t help but feel like a chastened child under his gaze. 

 

The shuffle of showers and Victor trying to tame his hair passes the time before they’re setting off to the rink, Celestino’s direction of running the distance passed over in favour of an Uber - Victor’s suggestion. They have gear to haul over and Yuuri had overslept, after all. Yuuri can’t help the sigh of relief that slips out at the offer, running in Detroit in December is nothing if not practically a death sentence after all.

 

Getting to the rink is the easy part. The moment Yuuri and Victor arrive they’re accosted by Celestino and his Cataclysm partner - a small mousy woman who’s introduced as Grace - who offers a small wave and goes back to the book in her lap without much more explanation than that. Celestino pulls them into his office and gives the pair a hard look.

 

He has to tell them, he has to break his contract with his coach and tell his idol he’s giving up. He can feel the bubbling anxiety crawling through his chest like tar, covering every inch of his lungs until he might choke on it. The words are on the tip of his tongue-

 

“So. How is this going to work?” 

 

“Uh…”

 

“Well speaking from my own experience you’re going to have to work together to train, at the very least. So how’re we going to do that?” 

 

“Well, I thought that -” Victor starts, but Yuuri’s cutting over him before he can stop himself.

 

“I’m not - We’re not. I…” Both Celestino and Victor are frowning at him now, the weight of their gazes bearing down upon him as he takes a steadying breath and tries to organise his thoughts. “I think… I’m done. I -”

 

“Done? Done with what?” Victor’s voice is sharp; Yuuri feels like running in the opposite direction as fast as his legs can carry him, but he’s taking another breath, and another.

 

“With skating. I… between the GPF and the Cataclysm.”  _ And Vicchan _ he doesn’t add, “I think I should just concentrate on my studies.”

 

“Yuuri…” Celestino is running a hand over his face tiredly, “You don’t have to quit because you fell. You have to pick yourself back up - I know that the Grand Prix was hard on you, especially after -”

 

“No, coach.” He cuts Celestino off, he doesn’t want Victor to know something so silly, so apparently small could kick him into the dirt. “There’s nothing to practice for now, no competitions, no Nationals. I think it would be best if I -”

 

“You’re just giving up?” 

 

There’s that weird hollow feeling in his chest again. That heavy oppressive pall that had covered him after the banquet announcement by the ISU, like his ribs are cracking apart and his chest is emptying into the ether. Victor is looking at him with a tiny quirk of an eyebrow, but the black heavy feeling is creeping all over his skin with prickling intensity.

 

“Not giving up. Changing focus, for now.” He tries for a firm tone, but it sounds weak even to him.

 

“Yuuri, I can’t force you to stay, I can’t make you train. But in or out you’re going to be here every day - I’ve had Feltsman on the phone to me this morning giving me the rundown of Victor’s training regimen - Are… Is that going to be okay for you?” They’re dancing around the problem, as usual. He’s never been good at just addressing things and Celestino never wants to push too hard. He hears the real question behind it though,  _ ‘Is taking a back seat going to be enough for you?’ _ .

 

“Yes.” 

 

“Then I suppose the only one I have to worry about is  _ you _ .” The frown is back and redoubling in strength, “Feltsman gave me a full rundown of your schedule to hold you to until this whole fiasco is over. He’s expecting you to stick to it, and to keep him informed.”

 

“I wouldn’t expect any less from Yakov.” Victor gives a little laugh.

 

“Well… I suppose-”

 

“I’ll start warming up…?” Victor gets to his feet, looking between the pair of them.

 

“Sure.” Yuuri knows the smile he offers Victor doesn’t reach his eyes, but it’s returned in kind and Yuuri can’t find it in himself to care right now.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks, as usual, goes to @Sachiro for being a badass and kicking this into shape. 
> 
> And Thank you all for reading, commenting and leaving Kudos. I'm still totally blown away by the reception, and by some of the theories and ideas you guys are chucking out! You should defo come and bother me on Tumblr or Twitter (I'm the same username on pretty much every platform :'))
> 
> See You guys in a week! <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Five!!! 
> 
> I can't believe we're up to chapter five already! I'm so excited for this one, you guys have no idea. Some of my dorkiest writing coming right up!
> 
> A big thank you for all of the comments and Kudos so far, you guys are amazing!!

 

“Yuuri?” Victor peers at him from around his laptop screen, Yuuri’s huddled in a chair with the thing on his lap and reams of paper surrounding him as he works. 

 

It’s Victor’s rest day. They’ve been in Detroit for a week now and Celestino has insisted he takes a break after seeing him pour himself out onto the ice for days. Yuuri has been busying himself with working out the kinks in his thesis, hauling his laptop and books along in their wake every morning and finding the most comfortable bench rinkside to try and get some work done. Danny has been keeping them on their toes with emails and phone calls between his meetings; their last call had been to tell them he’d managed to get them an apartment. It wouldn’t be much, he’d said, but it would give them a little space. Danny had let out a huffed laugh at the implication that made Yuuri frown and Victor chuckle. Most students are winding down after finals and heading home for Christmas, full of cheer and tales of family and friends. Yuuri is only hoping that he can get his shit together before they have to start hauling boxes and furniture across the city.

 

As distraction techniques go, it’s a pretty good one.

 

If he wasn’t distracted then he’d be spending hours watching Victor gliding across the rink, refining the perfect points of his already perfect program, running himself to the point of exhaustion every day. Even just watching him is exhausting, never mind the daily trips to the gym, where more often than not Victor drags Yuuri into spotting him and accompanying him on the treadmills. Between studying and Victor’s training, he’s been falling into bed each night before he even manages to remove his glasses.

 

“Hmm?” When Yuuri pulls his attention from his laptop Victor is looking at him wide eyed, he’s been binge watching trashy daytime TV. Yuuri can tell he isn’t really watching though, he’s being so thoroughly thrown into the life of Victor Nikiforov that he’s picking up cues he would never have known existed two weeks ago. Victor doesn’t just  _ watch _ TV, he reacts- he has a running commentary for whatever show they put on, side plots he builds for minor characters, suggestions for the leads. He’d found that out yesterday, watching some hospital drama and listening to Victor building a universe within their own universe where two of the patients were actually evil geniuses. Phichit had joined in, delightedly- Yuuri had stuck his headphones in to concentrate on his work.

 

Not that it hadn’t been  _ funny _ , but he had a lot to do, and watching Victor skate had taken up a lot of time that morning…

 

“Yuuri… do you like dogs?”

 

The question is so out of context it takes a second to register, and then another second for the pang of guilt to hit him in the chest. He misses Vicchan, he missed him before, but  _ now _ … “Uh, yeah. Who doesn’t?”

 

“You do?” Victor perks up, smiling brightly. “I have a poodle - her name is Makkachin!”

 

He can’t bring himself to speak, so he nods.

 

“Do they allow pets? Here I mean. Or at the new place?” Victor is playing with his phone, clipping the case on and off in a nervous gesture that makes Yuuri pause. Victor misses his pet, of course he does- Yuuri can relate. But…

 

“I don’t know, we’d have to ask Danny.” 

 

“I’ve been talking to her on skype, but it’s not the same.”

 

“Yeah. Uh, you must miss her- Makkachin.” There’s something incredibly vulnerable in Victor’s face when he glances up at him.

 

Victor nods, biting his lip and frowning down at his phone in his hand. The silence left in the wake of his question has Yuuri feeling deeply uncomfortable, but he can see Victor is turning something over in his mind. The phone case is being unclipped and refixed over and over…

 

“We can ask Danny when we pick up the keys, I think it should be fine.”

 

“You do?” 

 

Victor looks so hopeful in that moment Yuuri wishes he could reach out and hug him, but it’s not an option. They’re not friends, they’re stuck like this. They’re Cataclysm partners and that’s the extent of it. He’ll keep on saying that, keep on repeating that until the Cataclysm breaks-

 

Yuuri nods, burying himself back in his laptop. He can do this, he can work around whatever the Cataclysm is and once it's over Victor can go back to his life, back to Russia and gold medals. Victor returns to watching the game show that just started, answering the general knowledge questions with gusto. 

 

Yuuri catches Victor glancing over once or twice as he works, whittling down reference points and huffing in frustration when one of the reference sources leads straight back to a former source. When their gazes connect Victor sends a chirpy smile at him, but the connection between them feels taut. 

 

* * *

 

The apartment they’ve been assigned isn’t much of anything really, bare white walls and rudimentary furniture that looks ten years out of style; but it’s a place they can hole up together for the duration, so Yuuri just accepts the keys with a nod. Negotiating Makkachin’s residency had been a matter of Yuuri asking Danny seconds before the man darted out of the apartment onto his next appointment, to which the man had shrugged and told them the place was theirs as long as they needed it, and as long as it was still standing by the time they moved out he’d be happy.

 

“Thank you, Yuuri!” He isn’t really expecting Victor to sweep him up onto a quick hug, but manages to regain his balance when he nearly topples and pats him awkwardly on the back for a second before he’s released and Victor is chattering about how he needs to call Georgi and organise her travel schedule.

 

While Victor is on the phone, Yuuri checks out the bedrooms, bathroom and kitchen. Danny hadn’t given them a chance to look around before he’d departed and Yuuri isn’t surprised to find that the rooms are as bare as the rest of the apartment, each with a dresser and double bed, and not much else. It’s the bare bones of a place to live, but it’ll keep them sheltered, he supposes.

 

Moving into the place takes Yuuri only a few hours and two taxi trips filled with boxes to drag his scarce belongings from the dorm to the apartment. Victor, however, has his stuff shipped overnight, apparently he’d bribed Georgi Popovich into packing his things with the promise that he could keep Victor’s place for the foreseeable future. Victor seems happy about the arrangement, and even happier when they’re buzzed down to let the delivery men in with boxes teeming with his possessions.Yuuri huddles down onto the couch before it gets covered with packing cases and pulls his laptop open, burying himself in his thesis while Victor opens box after box and flits around the apartment piling up books and unearthing lamps.

 

Makkachin’s arrival is another high point. She’s flown in and released to them after a suspiciously short quarantine of three days, Victor doesn’t mention it, so Yuuri refuses to ask. Their reunion is beautiful though, Makkachin pulls loose from the customs official who’s holding her leash the moment he spots Victor and comes bounding across the airport, the resulting crash has Victor on his back laughing, rubbing her flank and burying his face in her fur. Yuuri keeps a polite distance, not wanting to intrude on the moment until Makkachin bounces over to him and gives him the same treatment, she’s so much bigger than Vicchan had been that she drops him to the floor and covers him in kisses before he can put up any kind of fight. Not that he’d want to - he’s laughing and rubbing her face happily while Victor grins down at them, lending Yuuri a hand to regain his feet once Makkachin’s thorough investigation has been completed.

 

Neither of them mention the lancing sparks that radiate from their touch as Victor hauls him from the floor.

 

* * *

 

The days slide by quickly, Yuuri running with Victor in the mornings and accompanying him to practice with his laptop warming his knees as he works away on his thesis. The college has allowed him special dispensation for his finals and he’s ramping up his study to try and cover all of his bases at once, his professors are being amazingly supportive through email even though they themselves are attempting to find some form of normality over the holiday period. The reports of missing persons has trickled down from thousands to only a few hundred people globally who haven’t yet been accounted for, and the Cataclysm seems to be over and done with, as far as the authorities are concerned. 

 

Now they just have to live with it.

 

Yuuri is in his room, he’d managed to create some semblance of home in his space, Phichit had helped with it a lot - he’d been totally amazing over the duration of their move and even helped him to drag his battered desk from their dorm. He appreciates it, every morning he’s woken by a good morning text message and a summons to meet at the rink if he’s available. It’s a tiny slice of their previous life together that Phichit is taking pains to maintain, he’d also turned up the night that Makkachin had arrived with a roll of very familiar posters under his arm and a grin on his face that had Yuuri hurrying him through the apartment and into the bedroom before Victor could enquire about the delivery.

 

It was so  _ normal _ .

 

Normal to wake up to Phichit’s greeting, even if it is in text rather than in person. Normal to run beside Victor on a daily basis, Makkachin trailing the way to the rink behind them. It’s becoming normal to curl up in his bed at night with the lights of the main room streaming under his door and the sound of Victor’s music playing softly as he reads on the couch. It’s all so normal, in fact, that Yuuri barely notices when their bond resurges during the day.

 

It’s a weird feeling, like tiny prickles over his skin when they pass in the hallway, or the bristle of something in the back of his mind while Victor skates and he’s buried in his studies; it’s easy enough to ignore, but it keeps happening. The first time they go grocery shopping together Victor wanders a little too far ahead, and Yuuri has to quicken his steps to stop the pulling at his abdomen, or when Victor is reading on the couch with Makkachin curled over his legs and Yuuri feels a rising feeling in his chest. It’s warm and bubbling and has nothing to do with the paper he’s writing. Sometimes the opposite happens, late at night when he’s in bed, there’s no happy bubbling feeling, only a strange blank feeling in his throat that has him endlessly clearing it in the hopes it’ll go away.

 

He wonders if Victor feels it too, but he’s too nervous to even begin  _ that _ conversation.

 

* * *

 

Christmas passes with little fanfare, when he asks about it Victor brushes his birthday off as inconsequential - they have enough to worry about after all, and Yuuri should concentrate on his studies. That doesn’t stop Yuuri and Phichit from cobbling together an approximation of Christmas dinner and a few small gifts, Phichit swanning into their apartment with a box loaded with the presents Yuuri had had delivered to him and begged him to wrap.

 

“Yuuri you didn’t have to-” Victor starts, but Yuuri brushes him off. He knew he didn’t  _ have _ to, but he’d wanted to. The look on Victor’s face is worth it, the tiny thrill across the Cataclysm connection feels oddly warm. Victor is miles away from home, training around Yuuri’s degree and Yuuri’s life. Of course he’s going to at least try to give  _ something _ back. 

 

“You’re never going to win this one, Victor. Once this idiot has his heart set on something he’s going to do it whether you like it or not.” Phichit shoots Yuuri a faux annoyed look, “Seriously, try talking him out of pole-dancing when he’s had a few too many Jaegers, it’s surprisingly difficult-” His words are cut off by the palm Yuuri, who’s blush is hot across his cheeks, flattens over his mouth.

 

“Yuuri pole-dances?” Victor gapes at him, eyes wide.

 

“Yuuri doesn’t want to talk about it.” He huffs, Phichit is grinning under his hand and wiggling his eyebrows. “Don’t we have dinner to make anyway?” He loosens his hold on Phichit, who just grins at him and sets to work pulling out the makings of their rather subdued Christmas dinner. He can feel Victor’s eyes on him as he pulls out chopping boards and pans, but ignores it, hoping the subject will stay dropped for the duration. 

 

He’s not embarrassed by his history of bad drunken decision making, per se, he’d just rather not tell Victor about just how idiotic a drunk he can be. He’d had one or two nights during his living with Phichit where he’d overdone it, and lived to hear all about it the next morning from a gleeful and sober Phichit, who usually had video evidence of his exploits. It’s silly, and juvenile and not something he wants Victor to know about. It’s not exactly something they’ll have to deal with together, is it? 

 

They fill up on carbs and movies and light talk, Yuuri and Phichit crushed together on the tiny sofa and Victor curled up in the chair, watching Die Hard at Phichit’s insistence, and Love Actually at Victor's. It’s nice to have Phichit around for the day, bright and laughing and filling out the gaps between him and Victor with chatter. Phichit even engages Victor in his running commentary of the movies, wondering if there weren’t enough stories hidden in the background of Love Actually to demand a sequel. 

 

It’s a good day, Yuuri feels more relaxed than he has in weeks with Phichit beside him, and he can’t help but feel a thrill at seeing Victor smile.

 

* * *

 

The weird empty feeling in Yuuri’s throat at night keeps getting worse.

 

He’s started going to bed with several bottles of water in the hopes that it’ll rid him of it, but its expanding further into his chest. He’s a little scared and a lot worried, but he doesn’t want to make a big deal of nothing so he doesn’t bring it up. He doesn’t want Victor to think he’s worrying over nothing, or being dramatic, or -

 

“Yuuri, where are you taking that?” They’re back from their grocery run, unpacking bags and stowing their purchases. Moving around each other as fluidly as though it were perfectly intuitive for them to be in each others space. 

 

“Um.” He glances down to the case of bottled water in his arms. He’d been about to stash it in his bedroom, rather than having to collect bottles every night, “To my room?”

 

“Why are you keeping a case of water in your room?” Victor frowns at him, head tilted as though changing angles would help him understand better.

 

“I drink a lot at night?” Yuuri shrugs, not the best reasoning but he can go with that. He doesn’t want to bother Victor more than he already does, considering Victor has already uprooted his entire life and his dog for Yuuri’s sake. “It’s easier that having to get up.”

 

“Okay, but you could keep it in the fridge…” 

 

“Yes, but-” Yuuri hasn’t even come up with a good rebuttal before Victor cuts him off.

 

“There’s something bothering you.” Victor crosses his arms over his chest and leans a hip against the kitchen island. His gaze scans over Yuuri’s face, he looks remarkably displeased.

 

“No! No, I’m-” Fine, he’s going to say, everything is fine and nothing needs to change and Victor doesn’t need to worry about him. Victor beats him to it though.

 

“No, Yuuri. I can  _ feel _ it bothering you.” He gestures with the back of a hand at his head. Yuuri pauses for a second, considering his options. He could play it all off as nothing, could just refuse to answer, but Victor is opening a line of communication he hasn’t dared to broach himself. This is permission to actively discuss their connection and its effects. Victor takes a deep breath, his gaze softens and his fingers loosen their grips against his elbows. “Please. Just tell me what’s the matter?”

 

Yuuri can feel his face crinkling in consternation, but he forces discomfiting feeling down, “I’ve been getting this weird  _ thing _ at night. It wasn’t much at first, it felt like a dry throat. But now, it’s getting worse and I don’t know what it  _ is _ but…” 

 

“What does the  _ thing _ feel like?”

 

“Ugh. It’s this weird feeling, like my chest is empty? I don’t know. It started in my throat and it keeps getting deeper, like it’s burrowing downwards. The water kinda helped at first but-” He shrugs helplessly, failing to find the words to describe it. “I thought it might be something to do with us, but I… I didn’t want to bother you, especially when it only happens at night when you’re in bed. It seemed rude to - Victor?” Victor’s hands drop from his chest and find the countertop under him. He clutches at the edge and the Cataclysm blooms with a heavy feeling.

 

“Yuuri, I - I’m so sorry.” Victor isn’t looking at him, he’s hiding himself behind his fringe and his shoulders as he curls into himself minutely. The Cataclysm connection pours out a sick feeling that wrenches at Yuuri’s stomach.

 

“What?”

 

“I think it’s me. I-” He shakes his head, seemingly lost for words as he stares at the countertop. 

 

“Victor?” He’s never seen Victor like this, never seen his knuckles whiten with the tension with which they’re clutching the counter, never seen him run out of words. For every situation there is an answer, that’s the Victor he’s been shown so far. This, however, is something new and different and fragile, and Yuuri is not equipped to deal with this - His hands are a little shaky as he drops the case of water at his feet and reaches out to Victor, fingers skimming millimeters away from actually touching. “What is it?”

 

Victor shakes his head at the countertop, Yuuri still can’t make out his expression but he can feel the pulling of their connection in his abdomen as he draws closer. He can feel that roaring in his ears building as Victor seemingly battles against  _ something _ he wants to say. There’s a second where he can almost feel the Cataclysm taut between them, before Victor looks up at him. His face is schooled into calmness, he gives a wry smile.

 

“Sometimes at night it’s… hard for me. I-” He shrugs, that plastic smile still stretching his lips. “It’s fine.”

 

“Victor, it’s okay. It’s fine. Whatever it is we can-”

 

“It’s not  _ this _ -” Victor waves a hand between them, “It’s been there for a long time, but at night it gets really bad and-” The smile falters for a second, ticking down at one corner before he blows out a breath with a frown, “It’s fine,  _ I’m  _ fine. How can I not be?” 

 

It’s the nonchalant shrug that does it. 

 

Yuuri is struggling against the idea that not only is he totally ill equipped to deal with Victor Nikiforov being vulnerable and shaken in front of him, but that this weird connection of theirs seems to be pushing their feelings onto each other - and Victor is studiously denying that it’s a problem?

 

“Victor, this is not _ fine _ ! Nothing about this is  _ fine! _ ” It bursts from him, fueled by days of confusion and turbulence, pushes from him in a torrent of Not Okay. That this  _ thing _ , their connection is finally,  _ finally _ on the table for discussion only to be pushed back by Victor’s own hang ups, is Not Okay.

 

Victor Nikiforov is the most amazing figure skater in history, he’s an Olympian, he’s a model that every magazine wants on its cover - But more than that, he’s a guy who when faced with the unknown had laughed at his own jokes on a twin bed in Sochi, had danced and laughed with Yuuri at a banquet he’d never planned to attend, he’s a man who dragged himself across the world and put Yuuri’s education first before his own  _ career _ . Victor isn’t the catho-tube version he’d watched in paroxysms of joy as a kid, nor is he the intimidating ideal he’d run from moments before the Cataclysm had dragged them together, he’s  _ more _ . 

 

Yuuri takes a deep breath, he steadies himself with the hand he’s now clutching Victor’s wrist with. He ignores the way his fingers tingle at the contact, he ignores the way the Cataclysm is pulling and tugging at him to move closer. “Even if this isn’t because of the Cataclysm, it’s affecting us both so we have to deal with it _ together,  _ right? That’s what you said in Sochi- we’re in this together. I’m here for you, so let me help you, please?”

 

Something between them, something in their weird connection falls into place; it’s like the sudden give in the breaking of a link in a chain, and the incessant pull eases instantly. Victor stifles a shuddering breath that Yuuri barely notices over the flare warmth radiating in his chest. Whatever Yuuri had just said, whatever target it had hit, something had  _ changed _ . He can feel it in the air between them, he can see it in Victor’s face when their gazes meet. It’s in the way his expression shifts minutely, the wry smile dropping into something uncharacteristically serious.

 

“It’s been like this for… years? I think? I don’t remember when it started, if I’m honest.” They’ve moved to the couch, Yuuri curled up at one end and Victor mirroring him on the other. He’s clutching the tea Yuuri had made for him in both hands before him as though it could shield him. “I don’t- I’ve never really talked about it. It seems so petty, so selfish to be this stupid over something when I’m…” He waves a hand in front of himself as though that should be explanation enough, and it is really. Yuuri and Victor both know what the press and their fellow competitors think of the reigning champion.

 

“Whatever you’re going to accuse yourself of being Victor, the first and most important thing you are, is  _ you _ . Yes, you might have medals enough to make every other athlete cry, but you’re a person and your feelings and thoughts count.”

 

“Yuuri, you can’t just  _ say _ that. There are people I’m intimately acquainted with who would throttle me in my sleep for those medals!” Another smile, a tiny chuckle into his tea.

 

“I can and will say that Victor, you deserve better than being reduced to nothing more than you accolades-”

 

“But I am  _ The Best _ , Yuuri!” The tone is chirpy and upbeat, but Yuuri can hear the note of sarcasm that laces it. He sips his tea and studiously ignores the self-depreciating undertones to the words, instead he directs the conversation towards Victor now, today and the last week. Victor doesn’t address his own issues as easily as he seems to deal with the ones around him, he talks around them, cushioning them in humour and laughs.

 

(What’s getting Victor down? Why the lack of competition, naturally Yuuri!)

 

_ Nothing to work towards…  _

 

(How does he feel today? Just great now he’s got tea and a nice guy by his side to cheer him up!)

 

_ … Lonely? _

 

(How does Victor usually deal with his- I skate, of course! Or I create new programs!)

 

_ … But he’s skating every day, so maybe he’s- _

 

“Nothing in there at the minute though!” Victor taps his temple with a grin. “My muse must have flown the nest, or got rattled free by the Cataclysm!”

 

_ … Lost inspiration…  _

 

Yuuri is no expert in any of these things, he's handed off his skates in favor of books and essays; although his intimate relationships have never really hit the double digits, he's always been able to find love and support in his family and friends; and inspiration? He's taken his from the man sat beside him. 

 

Maybe he can return the favour? Give Victor something to work against, even in a small way? He can't exactly call the ISU and demand they reinstate Euros, but he could give Victor something to challenge him? Someone to compete against… Not much, but it'd be something- 

 

“Well, maybe we could work on it? I mean I’m at the rink with you every day anyway, so when I take breaks between crying into my thesis I could join you on the ice and we could do something? Maybe that'll help you find inspiration.” 

 

The smile Yuuri receives in answer is bright enough, and real enough to stun him into silence.

 

* * *

 

It’s an image that he carries with him over the next few days. He relives that moment - that smile - during quiet moments when the apartment is filled with the sounds of Victor's music and Makka’s claws scrabbling over the cheap kitchen flooring. He replays it in his mind before he falls asleep, he thinks about it was he taps mindlessly at his laptop.

 

He carries the thought of it over into the chanting countdown as the ball drops and New Years is rung in. He and Victor clash glasses moving to do the same to Phichit’s where he’s sitting on the solitary chair.

 

“What’re you hoping for - this year I mean?” Victor asks.

 

“I hope I can get into the GPF this year!” Phichit’s grin is a little wider than usual when it’s loosened by several glasses of wine.

 

They drink to that, laughter bubbling over Yuuri’s lips and into his glass. Victor hopes he can find inspiration for next season’s programs, to which Yuuri protests that they haven’t even started to work on it yet, and Phichit mumbles something about inspiration being the swing of Yuuri’s hips when he has one too many. 

 

“Isn’t anyone going to ask me what I’m hoping for?” Yuuri interjects, a little too loudly and a little too desperately to cover Phichit’s comment. 

 

“Dearest, darlingest Yuuri - what is thy wish for the year, sweetums?” Phichit is dripping saccharine sweetness and fluttering his eyelashes. Yuuri gives him the finger in reply, and Victor chokes on his wine when Phichit replies with “Honey, you couldn’t afford it.”

 

Really, when he actually considers it while Phichit and Victor are giggling over instagram posts from their fellow skaters, Yuuri wishes he could make Victor smile like that again.

 

Yuuri gets happily drunk after that, laughing and joking with his best friend and his Cataclysm buddy. They’re a combination that somehow works well together, Yuuri thinks idly. Victor and Phichit’s bubbling enthusiasm making way for his dry sarcasm and blending together into hours of laughing and drinking. Victor starts yawning around three in the morning, excusing himself to the bathroom to wash up before bed. Phichit just gets blearily to his feet and heads straight to the nearest flat surface. 

 

If he’d been paying attention, Yuuri would have noticed Phichit turning right instead of left on his way through the tiny apartment, but he’s trying to negotiate the empty wine glasses onto the counter without clashing them loudly. He considers washing up, but realises that he’s drunk enough that it might end in disaster. Instead he shuffles into his room, already shucking off his shirt and placing his glasses on the bedside.

 

“Yuuri?” 

 

The wine has him a little fuzzy around the edges as he turns to where Victor is standing in the doorway, looking a little sheepish at the interruption, if the tiny blush over the bridge of his nose is anything to go by. “Hmm?”

 

“Um, I have a little problem.” Victor isn’t looking directly at him, he’s talking to a point over Yuuri’s left shoulder, “Phichit might have just passed out in my bed and I’m not entirely sure I can wake him.”

 

“Oh crap! Yeah he’s a heavy sleeper. I can just go and crash with him and-”

 

“No, no I can’t throw you out of your room!” Victor cuts him off looking appalled at the insinuation he’d be so presumptuous. “I was, well… I could just crash with you?”

 

Maybe it’s the wine, maybe it’s the fact that Victor is so obviously uncomfortable with the concept of overstepping the boundaries between them, maybe it’s that lingering thought that he wants to see Victor’s real smile again. Whatever the reasoning, Yuuri shrugs and grins at his Cataclysm partner. “Well it’s not like I’d put you through the torture of sleeping on the couch, that thing is horrific for your back.”

 

Victor takes that as his answer and moves into the bedroom with a small laugh, Yuuri is already clambering into his bed having pulled off his jeans and lost them to the carpet, replacing them with well worn sweats. “Yeah the couch is less than ideal for any form of napping. It’s not as bad as the one in my apartment in St. Petersburg though. That thing is some aesthetic nightmare people who don’t use actual furniture designed.” 

 

“Why do you have it then? If it’s so bad?” Victor hits the lights and Yuuri pulls the covers up, snuggling down into them.

 

“I thought it looked good? I never really considered the repercussions before I bought it, clearly.” He feels the mattress dip with Victor’s weight, the sheets being pulled back minutely and dragged back into place. Just like the night in Sochi, they keep their distance, but this time as they lie together Yuuri isn’t freaked out. This time he’s tired, a little drunk, and comfortable.

 

“Yes clearly. Next time you buy a couch you need a supervising eye to meter your obsession with pretty things.”

 

“Hmm, true. I am drawn in by beauty.” Yuuri can’t make out Victor’s expression, but his tone is a bit wistful over the dark expanse of the pillows between them. 

 

“There’s nothing wrong with admiring something for it’s beauty.” It would have sounded a little defensive, if not for the laugh that he receives in return. He’s not trying to be argumentative, but especially speaking to the person who, to him, had encapsulated his ideal of beauty for so long… He might be reading too much into it… 

 

“You’re right, but beauty as only a surface and not the true depths of the thing is a sad state of affairs wouldn’t you agree?” There’s something in the way the words are laid out, whispered into the darkness that comes across as vulnerable. It catches Yuuri’s attention and he can’t help the way his heart thumps in his chest as he considers his reply. There’s something about the darkness they’re covered by that makes him bold when he speaks again.

 

“I’m not sure you’re talking about designer couches anymore, but… maybe you’re looking at it from the wrong perspective? Maybe the value of that beauty is to draw out the imperfections and pour beauty into  _ them _ as well.” 

 

Was it a little too personal? Maybe, but Yuuri has known for years that he’s less than perfect, he has sharp edges that catch in the weirdest ways, he has anxiety spirals that hit without warning or can build over weeks. He’s never been perfect at anything. He’s the kind of guy who can trip on his own edges without any outside help and Victor doesn’t know it, hasn’t seen it yet.

 

“Maybe. Or maybe there’s nothing underneath it and there’s never been any point in looking beyond it.”

 

“Is that actually what you think of yourself?” He can’t help the shock that must be hidden in the shadows’ cover.

 

“Well… sometimes…” Victor pauses, considering or maybe gauging his words as he whispers them. “Sometime I feel as if that all there is. That the Victor Nikiforov in the photos and interviews took over years ago, and there’s nothing else… I worry? That maybe that’s why I’m like  _ that _ .”

 

Like  _ that _ . 

 

It takes Yuuri a moment to steady himself from the million miles an hour protests ringing in his skull about how amazing and perfect Victor is, it wouldn’t help to push him around with praise right now and Victor is being incredibly, amazingly honest. He ignores the empty feeling in his throat that starts to spread at the insinuation too. Instead he reaches across the gap between them and rests his palm over Victor’s, where it lies against the pillow he’s claimed, letting the tingling sparks ground him for a second.

 

“It can’t have been easy, to maintain an image like that for so long.” He hopes he sounds supportive, or kind or something, but really he’s just letting the words pour as he continues. “You’ve been in the spotlight and under such intense scrutiny for years that I think anyone would feel it, would feel  _ that _ . But I don’t think it’s true, Victor. I think that in the time we’ve been thrown together you’ve been kind, and funny, and surprising, and I’m really, really glad I got stuck to someone so nice. Even if you aren’t the Victor Nikiforov in the posters, I think you’re great the way you are.” He hears Victor inhale sharply. “I don’t think there’s nothing else under that, I think you haven’t looked hard enough under the couch cushions is all.”

 

The burst of laughter he gets at that is refreshing, and Victor wipes away any doubts he had about putting his foot in it when he responds. “The couch again Yuuri? Honestly I’m trying to bare my soul here, how could you? When I’m so very vulnerable!”

 

“You’re the one with the fixation, not me!” He can tell that the grin plastered on his face is mirrored back at him, he can feel it through the weird connection, he can feel it in the dip of the mattress as Victor chuckles.

 

“I only mentioned in passing-”

 

“You made it an analogy for your mood-” He tries to rebuff, but Victor cuts him off with what can only be described as a whine, Yuuri’s stomach wiggles a little as the bond warms him.

 

“I thought it was very apt thank you very much!” They’re silent for a moment, he can imagine the smile on Victor’s face right now, he hopes it’s as brilliant as the one from before, he wishes- “Can you feel it though? It’s strange right?”

 

“Tha Cataclysm?” They’re speaking in hushed tones again, after the outburst of laughter and gentle ribbing. Yuuri wants to talk about it, but even in this dark he’s too nervous.

 

“Yeah. Yes. It was there in Sochi, and sometimes when you’re trapped behind your laptop I can feel it. And when we were dancing it was there and when you kissed my hangover better…” Victor takes another deep breath, “And now, it was there when we were laughing and now it’s there but it’s like… the second before you try a new jump for the first time? So, worried maybe?”

 

“Anxious. I’m, uh.”

 

“You don’t want to talk about it?” Victor sounds worried himself.

 

“No, not that…” He can do this, he can be open just like Victor has been with him. “I have an anxiety disorder. Not a little one either, and sometimes it…” He squeezes Victor’s hand beneath his, hoping to get the message across over the waves of sickening worry in his abdomen.

 

“Anxiety?” Once again it’s whispered, once again Victor isn’t pushing, he’s leading him through the conversation as he has their last morning in Sochi. 

 

“Yeah, it gets bad sometimes. Mostly performance related, but it…”

 

“So that’s what happened at the Grand Prix?” Yuuri gives another squeeze. “Your anxiety threw off your performance?”

 

“And I got some bad news. My, um- my dog Vicchan was in an accident and he. He didn’t-”

 

He isn’t really aware of the tears before they spill, he doesn’t know where it’s all coming from, this glut of sadness that’s suddenly welling up inside of him at the thought of Vicchan. He’s worked so, so hard to bury it all while he and Victor try to negotiate their sudden connection and the turbulence that followed the Cataclysm. He can feel his throat roughen and chest tighten at the thought that he hadn’t been there. 

 

“Oh - Oh, Yuuri.” Victor sweeps him into a hug, Yuuri’s shaking and Victor buries his face against his neck. He’s not surprised in the least that Victor’s arms are shaking around him. If they’re feeling across whatever this connection is, then this is the most he’s felt in weeks. He hadn’t planned on ignoring it, he hadn’t wanted to put Vicchan’s passing aside to deal with later, but here he was finally, finally crying over his pet, with Victor’s breath shuddering across his shoulder and his own being caught in the space between their chests. 

 

It doesn’t surprise him, when he pulls away to find that Victor hands are shaking against his shoulders, nor that his neck is wet. It’s not out of the real of his current possibilities that Victor might just be overwhelmed with the feelings currently choking back his words. “I- I’m not usually like this, I-”

 

“There’s nothing usual about any of this, Yuuri. But we’re in it together.” The words are punctuated with another hug, settling Yuuri’s head to pillow on Victor’s chest. The buzzing of his skin is secondary to the overwhelming urge to cry again. Victor is too kind, too nice, too good to him.

 

He wishes there were some way he could repay the favor.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to say a big thank you for all of the comments and Kudos on the last chapter, the last week has been rubbish and seeing everyone's feedback and reactions has gotten me through. 
> 
> Feel free to continue yelling at me, here or on twitter or tumblr <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reactions to chapter five were absolutely amazing guys, I'm still not over all of the comments and people dropping by my tumblr to say hi! So, thank you all so so much and here we have a super shiny new chapter!!! Props as always to Sachiro for making me look like I know how to English correctly!

Something changes between himself and Victor. 

 

He notices it in the way the Cataclysm connection stops dragging at him at weird times, they talk far more than they had in the weeks before New Year. The New Year brings in a new level of comfort in their relationship, and Yuuri can’t help himself but relish in it. The way Victor’s eyes light up while they chat over mugs of tea late into the night, or how sometimes the connection between them will flare with feelings belonging to Victor alone. There’s a tick of an eyebrow that belies undercurrents of amusement, or a turn of lips that speaks of disagreement that buried under a mask of challenge. A tilt of chin that can be happy if upwards or annoyed if downturned. 

 

Somewhere over the course of the last month Yuuri has become a walking encyclopedia of Victor Nikiforovs microexpressions. He’s fairly certain that Victor is collecting his own list of ‘Yuuri things’ that have him quirking his eyebrow when Yuuri taps his pen lid against his lips, or when he drums his fingers on the blank space of his laptop lid. It’s strangely intimate - the way they’re learning each other, Yuuri’s being catalogued in ways that he had never had expected to be. 

 

Yuuri had considered relationships, of course, and he’s had partners and lovers and people who wanted to know him, but it had felt intrusive and uncomfortable. With Victor, it doesn’t feel like any of those things, it feels… intuitive, just like when they’re moving around each other in the apartment. It feels like a give and take, a learning of the other that feels natural to them. The Cataclysm between them bleeds so many kinds of emotion, fills in gaps in conversation and intent behind words. It would be impossible not to be learning about Victor, just as Victor learning him so intimately isn’t an intrusion, it's a necessity of them learning to live with the connection they have.

 

When he’s not sweating into his laptop or cramming for finals, Yuuri finds himself ruminating over New Years night. About the way the boundaries he’s been holding up for so long seem to keep falling away whenever he’s in close proximity to Victor, thinks about the way Victor had whispered his secrets into the night like so many small hints at the man he’d admired for so, so long being more than just the image on a flat screen. He thinks about the warmth that had radiated over their connection as they had laughed, of the way Victor had shaken with the force of Yuuri’s grief over Vicchan. He thinks about how Victor is so much more than he thinks of himself, and how, if ever someone deserved a little support and love, it’s Victor Nikiforov. Not the figure skater, but the man.

 

* * *

 

Inspiration is a tricky thing, muses can be fleeting fancies caught in the whisper of a sigh, or they can be the challenging look in Victor’s eyes the first time Yuuri joins him on the ice during his study break.

 

He’d skyped into a lecture for the last two hours, been bored stiff with his earbuds chafing and the professor sometime walking out of range of the laptop hooked up for him to attempt to learn, but now he’s finally free for the hour before Celestino comes to throw Victor off the ice and into a cab if he has to. He warms up hurriedly and slips into his skates quickly, pulling the laces taut in practiced motions and grinning when Victor joins him at the rink entrance with a grin.

 

“Gracing me with your presence today, Yuuri?” A playful glance and uptilted chin, he doesn’t even need to notice the way the Cataclysm tickles at his spine to know Victor’s masking his excitement. “I’d almost thought you’d forgotten about me.”

 

“I hate to point out it’s impossible to forget about someone I’m physically unable to get away from, but I might have to-”

 

“Yuuri, so cruel!” Victor laughs though, a tiny thrill at the nape of his neck accompanies the action.

 

“I’ll have you know I’m well regarded by other people, it’s only you who seems to get offended.” He knows that their connection is buzzing with amusement, but he remains stoic as Victor gasps.

 

“Me? Offended? Never!” It’s playful, and silly, and Yuuri’s smile breaks out as Victor throws his head back in mock rebuke.

 

“I thought you wanted me to join you in choreography, but if you’re too busy-”

 

“No! No. Yuuri!” Victor grabs his hand as he turns away, stifling another laugh. “Come on. I thought of something the other day and thought you might like to try it.” His fingers are caught in Victor’s as he pulls him onto the rink and away from the boards, safely encased in gloves to keep the chill off, which also keeps the warm sparks from radiating from the point of contact.

 

“That sounds vaguely ominous.” Yuuri wishes, just once that his brain to mouth filter would kick in before he speaks, but Victor stops in his tracks and turns to him.

 

“Well I never promised to go easy on you.” Victor’s eyes trail over the length of him, “And I’m not sure I’d want to.”

 

Yuuri’s thought processes derail for a moment. It’s either the very obvious once over Victor gives him, the tone of his reply which drips with promise, or the suggestive tilt to his hip as he moves very deliberately in Yuuri’s space. Maybe all three? 

 

“Uh.” Victor doesn’t stop moving into him, he keeps coming until their knees are in danger of knocking.

 

“Don’t be too surprised, Yuuri. You promised to help me with my inspiration- and I’ve been thinking about it for  _ weeks _ .”

 

“A-about…?” There’s no way Victor can miss the way Yuuri stumbles over the word, nor the catch in his breath as his gloved hand clutches at Victor’s bicep, momentarily unbalanced by the sudden proximity. There a heavy pulse of  _ something _ over their connection that has a shiver crawling up his spine, Victor’s hand drifts to his cheek, his thumb dipping at the bow of Yuuri’s lip. 

 

“So many things, Yuuri, but mostly...” Victor’s gaze is fixed to the progress of his thumb, Yuuri’s heartbeat ratchets up at the contact, even though the tip of his fingers are safely encased in gloves Yuuri can feel the ghost of the sparks that should be careening between them.  “Mostly I’ve been… thinking…”

 

“Thinking?” There’s a heavy thrumming over the Cataclysm, something hot and pulling but not in the usual way. It’s something closer to the dreams he’s been having, the ones that have him waking sweating and aching. Victor’s hand drops and he steps back a little, bright eyes and bright smile nearly blinding.

 

“Thinking about the program, of course!” 

 

_ Of course.  _

 

What else could Victor have been thinking of anyway? 

 

* * *

 

He blames that particular interaction for the dream he has that night. It’s all heavy glances and rough touches, shuddering breaths against each others mouths, miles of sweat slicked skin to run his tongue over. The dream has him waking in the early hours of the morning, his chest heaving and his fingers twisted in the sheet as they’d been twisted into Victor’s silver strands in his dream. 

 

The groan of frustration he lets out is buried in his pillow and hopefully muffled enough it doesn’t carry through the silent apartment.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri isn’t surprised that his temper is at an all time low the next morning. Between College, training-but-not-training, and his ridiculous subconscious throwing out sex dreams about someone he could never dare to approach in  _ that _ way, he’s more than a little frazzled. That does not, however, forgive him checking Victor out when he emerges from the bathroom with a halo of steam following in his wake. Yuuri curses himself internally.

 

It is one thing to have fantasies about an unattainable idea of Victor Nikiforov as a teenager, it’s practically  _ understandable _ considering the image he’d cultivated. It’s another thing to have a sex dream days after the Cataclysm had hit and he’d been reeling with the turmoil of the event. But dreams when they’d been together for weeks and it wasn’t just some stranger, but someone Yuuri might well be spending the rest of his life with by force? Unforgivable.

 

If Victor notices his preoccupation, he doesn’t mention it. Victor is all bright smiles and quick warm-ups as they stand outside the co-op building, Yuuri’s own warm-up is rough and a little too short, his calves complain at him as he sets off with his earbuds jammed in his ears. He outstrips Victor’s pace for the first time that morning, punishing himself in some weird way for the dream the night before. Being at the rink doesn’t alleviate his mood in the slightest. He holes up on his usual bench, not bothering to shuck his workout clothes and just pulling out his laptop and glowering at it.

 

What the hell is wrong with him? Victor deserves better than a Cataclysm partner who’s going to spend his days silently burying himself in schoolwork and his nights objectifying him. He would never want Yuuri to look at him that way, they’d discussed how little Victor thought of that kind of attention, and it had been a resounding negative. Sure, they’re stuck together for the foreseeable future, but that doesn’t give him any right to reduce Victor to nothing more than jerk-off material.

 

_ But…  _ a small part of his mind, a tiny insidious voice protests,  _ Victor was the one who  _ started _ it. _

 

Victor had… flirted, a little. Yes, but a lot of people had assumed he and Phichit were in a relationship because of the flirtatious nature of their friendship. 

 

_ Victor isn’t Phichit.  _

 

_ Victor is someone you've wanted for _  years .

 

_ Victor might- _

 

He slams his laptop shut with such force that Celestino frowns at him from the boards. “Something wrong, Yuuri?”

 

“No- Nothing, Coach.” Celestino raises a brow at him looking unconvinced. He shoots to his feet, not looking at his ex-coach. “I just need some air…”

 

He’s halfway to the door, buried in his swirling ridiculous mind when he hears Victor call his name- he’s so mad at himself he’s half tempted to just keep going, but Victor’s tone is panicked. “Yuuri! Yuuri get back here- you’re-”

 

It’s then he realises that he’s been storming away, temper high and practically dragging Victor along in his wake. He turns to find him hurrying across the ice with a look of worry pasted over his feature that has Yuuri feeling guilty as hell the moment he sees it. 

 

“Yuuri are you okay? You’ve been… a little distracted all morning.” He knows that Victor is understating it, probably for his benefit since Celestino is still within hearing distance. It makes him want to immolate from shame, that act of kindness, Victor shielding him even when he’s hurting. He’s cursing himself over and over, damning himself for being so crude. Victor deserves  _ better. _ “Anything I can help with?”

 

_ “I’m fine.” _ Every sharp edge is barbing him, his head is a jumble of self rebuke, and he can feel the harsh pulling of their connection at his abdomen even as his breathing speeds up.

 

“You don’t look fine, Yuuri. It doesn’t _ feel _ fine.”

 

The Cataclysm is actively attempting to drag his guts out through his chest, or it feels like it anyway. He clenches his teeth against the feeling, as though biting back the retorts about to spill will stop the words from pouring forth. 

 

“Yuuri. Shit-” Victor doubles over the boards closest to him, “Yuuri, come here. It hurts.”

 

He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to be near Victor and to spoil him with his toxicity right now, but the Cataclysm is becoming ever more insistent. His feet are moving before he knows it and the physical pull of it eases, but Victor doesn’t straighten.

 

“Yuuri- Yuuri, you’re-” Victor’s reaching for him, he looks for all the world as though he’s almost writhing in pain. “How can you be so calm right now?!” 

 

He’s not calm. He’s nowhere near calm. If anything he’s running headlong into a panic attack at full tilt, but it doesn’t show. He’s so practiced at covering himself from perception in this that he can feel the lines of his face when they crumble. He- He’s doing this  _ to _ Victor. The same way Victor’s loneliness had eaten at him quietly for days on end, his anxious thought processes spiralling out are waves in the lake of their connection, starting as a ripple and gathering momentum as they crash over onto his partner. 

 

He takes a shuddering breath. And another.

 

“Victor, I- I’m sorry.” How does he explain this without sounding like some kind of self-fallegating moron? “I got caught up in… something.”   
  


“Well whatever the  _ hell _ that was, it sucked.” Victor isn’t looking at him as he straightens up.

 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

 

“No, I know- but… is that what your anxiety feels like?” Victor is looking at his own hands, they’re shaking against the boards. He can’t put it into words, so Yuuri nods. “ _ That’s _ anxiety.”

 

Yuuri nods again, he can’t look Victor in the eye, he’s too ashamed of himself, he’s the worst. 

 

“Yuuri?” Victor is trying to catch his eye, but Yuuri curls into himself a little, avoiding the contact.

 

“Mmmh?” 

 

“Come here?” He see’s Victor’s hand, palm up swing into his field of vision. 

 

“Please?”

 

He’s some kind of glutton for punishment, he decides. He must be, because even though he shouldn't, he can see Victor is shaken and if Victor needs him, he’ll go to him every time. Their palms connect and Victor pulls him even closer, until his arms can wrap around Yuuri’s neck with the boards keeping them separated by centimeters. It’s instinctive now, to wrap his own arms around Victor’s middle. 

 

“Whatever’s been bothering you, you don’t have to tell me. I know you’re not exactly good at talking about yourself-” Victor cuts him off before he can argue, “No Yuuri. Listen to me. I don’t need to  _ know  _ what’s bothering you, but if it  _ is _ . Just… let me know?” Yuuri nods into Victor’s shoulder, he’s fighting tears and holding his breath for fear of them spilling over. “Thank you. I think today isn’t the day for training, maybe we should just go back to the apartment and relax.”

 

He doesn’t get to argue that point either, he’s swept along in Victor’s wake as he waves off Celestino and shoves his feet into his sneakers. 

 

* * *

 

“So how have you both been?” They’re in a rundown office in a strip mall, Danny having welcomed them quickly and with far less fanboying than the first time they’d met, clearly even Danny’s starry eyed worship could be worn down by repeat exposure. He’d shoved a couple of mugs of coffee at them then started flicking through his tablet. “So it’s been almost six weeks since it hit.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“So how’ve the last six week been? Is the apartment okay for you? Have you had any distance issues?” Danny throws the questions at them in quick succession and Yuuri blinks at the brusqueness.

 

“Uh. We’re… fine?” He shoots a look over at Victor, who is grinning and clearly biting back a laugh at the change in their case worker. “Are… you okay?”

 

Danny blinks, then cracks a smile that leads to a laugh, which sets Victor off. “I’m great, thank you for asking Yuuri!” 

 

“Well, you seem a little out of sorts.” He mumbles, a blush pushing onto his cheeks and making him squirm. He can feel the warmth radiating from the connection and when he darts a look at Victor he’s being watched with a warm fondness that makes his blush redouble.

 

“No, you’re right. It’s been a hectic six weeks on my end and I’m a little worn out.” Danny runs a hand through his hair distractedly, “But that’s not important. How’re you both?”

 

“We’re good. Great actually.” Victor smiles at Danny reassuringly. “The apartment is fine, we’re making it work? And distance is… something we’ve had to deal with.”

 

“Ah. Yeah we’ve had some interesting cases where the affected partners couldn ‘t separate by more than a couple of feet. How did it affect you both? Do you know what might have triggered it?” Danny listens carefully as Victor recounts their experience in the rink, making a few notes on his tablet and directing a few questions at Yuuri. He’s as impersonal as he can be about it, and Yuuri appreciates the gesture. “Have there been any other effects? This looks like a mood related thing, so I guess it wouldn’t be too much of a leap to wonder if it’s all moods, not just bad ones?”

 

“Yeah, the happy ones are quite nice actually!” Victor is smiling, looking a little out of focus as he muses on it. “It’s like having a happy bubble in my chest or like when you’re reading something really nice and you feel all fuzzy?”

 

“And you have the same experiences Yuuri?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Have you experienced any less favorable effects?” The question is again detached, but Yuuri can feel a tingle of worry in the back of his neck. He’s starting to be able to detect when his and Victor’s emotions mirror across the connection, and even to differentiate. Victor’s worry always hits the back of his neck. His own is pooled in his stomach.

 

“Yes, there were a few nights that were a little rough, but we talked about it and things seem to be getting better.” 

 

“Oh wow.” Danny blinks at the pair of them and then back at his tablet. “So you just talked it out?”

 

“Yes, the same as in the rink.” Victor supplies, but the nervous tickle in his neck doubles up over itself. Yuuri presses his hand to it without fully realising he’s trying to soothe it away.

 

“Brilliant. So talking about it helped in your case.” Danny’s typing rapidly, nodding to himself. “Great! That’s great guys.”

 

“It is?” Yuuri’s a little baffled at the reaction and Victor is frowning at Danny.

 

“Yeah, I mean we’re only six weeks into this particular Cataclysm with little to no collation so far, so every bit of information helps. I’ve had a lot of the partners having distance issues but not knowing how to resolve, so if it’s as simple as talking this stuff out it could really help!” Danny is practically vibrating with excitement. 

 

“Then we’re happy to help!” Victor grins easily, but there’s still a prickle in Yuuri’s neck that itches at him.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri is done. Well not  _ done _ . But he’s finished his finals, finally, and he’s almost got the last of his thesis nailed down, and he’s feeling like he could conquer the world right now and he’s riding the high. Which is probably why he invites Christophe over for a long weekend.

 

Well, it’s the confidence borne of being capable for once and the way that tickling worry that he still hadn’t managed to make Victor smile again… but who’s counting.

 

Chris is totally on board with a quick jaunt to the US, he doesn’t even bother to check in with his coach before he agrees. He’s a little flirty on the phone, but Yuuri is feeling so happy that he throws the flirtations right back with a few of his own. He’s safely ensconced in his bedroom, Victor having retired for the night and he’s happy to be able to do  _ something _ to make him happy. Once Chris has got all of the flirting out of his system and he’s emailed his coach he sighs.

 

“So, how is he? If you’re calling for reinforcements should I be worried?” He sounds uncharacteristically serious, Yuuri huffs out a small laugh of his own.

 

“It was um, weird for a while. He’s been down for a while I think…”

 

“Yes, he has. How is he now?”

 

“Better. We talked some stuff out. He’s skating everyday and he seems happy.” He doesn’t want to say anymore than that, it feels invasive to talk about Victor without him being there.

 

“Okay, more the fool me for asking- I guess I’ll see for myself in a week anyway.” 

 

“You will! And remember, it’s a surprise-”

 

“So don’t let on, yes Yuuri dear, I think I can manage!” There’s the sound of a kiss being blown and Yuuri doesn’t bother to stifle the laugh that bubbles up, Chris has already hung up on him.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri isn’t expecting much to happen in the week between his call and Chris’ arrival, Victor’s training tires them both out, and Yuuri is still winding down from the last of his finals, but the night before Chris is due to arrive he  _ feels _ it. 

 

“Victor?” He doesn’t often go near Victor’s room. He sees it in passing when they cross paths, shuffling around each other for showers and poking their heads in to ask if the other is hungry, but here he is knocking on the door and letting himself in. He’d never have dared to be so forward in their first few weeks together, but now he can feel the gaping hole in his chest that has him clearing his throat as he walks into Victor’s space.

 

Victor’s mood has filtered across their connection throughout the day, starting with a little stress on Yuuri’s throat, and cascading downwards. It’s never come on so hard or quickly before, usually it’s an insidious crawl into his body but today it’s overwhelming. He’d tried to ask Victor if he was okay earlier, when it had been a niggling, but had been brushed off and ignored. The full force of it had hit only a few minutes ago, dragging Yuuri from his bedroom and into uncharted territories.

 

“Yuuri.” Victor is sat up in bed with a book in his hands, he doesn’t look up at the intrusion. Victor looks… completely normal, calm, there isn’t a single outward sign that he’s feeling anything other than bored. The maelstrom in Yuuri’s chest, however, begs to differ.

 

“I uh- don’t want to push but-”

 

“If you don’t want to push then why are you in my bedroom?” The response is ice cold, freezing Yuuri a few feet from the bed.

 

“Because I can feel that you’re not okay Victor, you know I can, so why can’t you just talk to me?” He’s frustrated, by his limitations in helping Victor, and his lack of experience- he’s frustrated with Victor stonewalling him.

 

“Did it ever occur to you that I might not  _ want  _ to talk about it?!” Victor snaps waspish and hard edged. 

 

“And did it occur to you that without you telling me what’s wrong I’m basically completely at the mercy of your mood?” His temper is rising up in challenge to Victor’s icy demeanour, the book in Victor’s hands droops to the covers and he’s pinned under his gaze. Victor looks conflicted, almost scared. “You’re not helping either of us by bottling things up Victor-”

 

“I don’t want to talk about it.” His gaze drops to the book in his hands again, but this time he’s biting his lip and frowning rather than using it as a barrier.    
  


“Fine. Don’t talk, you don’t  _ have _ to talk to me, but at least allow me to try and help?” He approaches the bed coming to sit on the edge of the mattress. “I just… hate knowing you’re feeling like this and doing it all alone. Even if you never tell me what’s bothering you, at least let me help?”

 

“Could - I… think a hug might help?” He’s still not looking at Yuuri, but even just the admittance that he wants  _ something _ is a step forward. 

 

He doesn’t really consider the strangeness of it. Each time they’ve shared a bed it has been edged with one too many beverages and some kind of mutual benefit, but this is just for Victor. It takes him a second to slide under the covers beside him, another to settle into an optimal cuddle position with his back braced against the pillows. Victor is a little tense as he pulls him in, still tense as he tries to arrange his limbs around Yuuri’s torso in some semblance of a hug. Yuuri calms him with a hand on his back and the other stroking over his bicep. He counts breaths as Victor relaxes incrementally against him, letting whatever had caused his mood to plummet out in small touches at Yuuri’s waist.

 

He’s almost drifting off, lulled to sleep by the easing of the tension that had gathered from Victor and is leaking away with every touch when Victor breaks the silence with a word that makes Yuuri’s heart skip a beat. 

 

“Stay?”

 

Yuuri does.

 

* * *

 

Victor’s phone pulls Yuuri from sleep, rudely ringing for attention. He tries to ignore it, but Victor pulls himself out of Yuuri’s arms and huffs out a curse at the thing as he reaches for it.

 

“It’s for you.” His voice is rough with sleep and he hasn’t even bothered to answer the thing ringing in his hand. He shoves it into Yuuri’s grip and settles back onto his chest as though it’s perfectly normal for them to be snuggling. The Cataclysm between them is light, like stroking tendrils of contentment that have Yuuri wishing to sink into their warmth, but the phone is screeching in his palm noisily. He squints at the screen, brushing aside the connotations of morning cuddles with Victor Nikiforov and sees Phichit’s face illuminating the screen for a second before it rings off. 

 

Then he catches sight of the time.

 

Shit.

 

_ Shit. _

 

And just because apparently his luck is just that bad, he hears the front door to the apartment give way under the spare key he’d provided to Phichit for just this occasion - although he’d meant to have plied Victor with breakfast and been dressed and ready to meet their best friends. Not be trapped under the many limbs of Victor Nikiforov, who is doing his best impression of a sleeping princess as he pillows his face against Yuuri’s t-shirt. Yuuri tries very, very hard not to consider the implications of the fact that he’s totally fine with Victor using him as a body pillow, and nudges his bed mate.

 

“Uh- Victor we need to get up-” He tries, he really does, but Victor is seemingly not having it this morning.

 

“Nope. You’re comfy.” This had happened on New Years day too, Victor snuggling into him and Yuuri being helpless to move the other man, but Victor had been unconscious then. Today isn’t the time for this - their best friends are probably searching the apartment already and there are only a few places to look - Victor pauses in his activity of driving Yuuri crazy and screws his face up in consternation. “Wait, was that the door?”

 

“Yes. We have to -” He’s pulling away from Victor, trying to get himself out of his grip when the door swings open. 

 

“Well this looks  _ cosy _ . Private party, or can anyone join?” 

 

Crap.

 

“Chris?” Victor finally lets Yuuri have his torso back as he turns to the door.

 

“The one and only.”

 

“Chris! You’re here!” Victor practically bounces from the bed, so enthusiastic about his friend’s sudden arrival that he’s uncaring of the fact that they’ve been found in a potentially compromising position. He claps a hand on Chris’ shoulder and laughs, “What’re you doing here?”

 

“Well your cuddle buddy over there thought you could do with a little cheering up and asked me over for the weekend. Now am I going to have to drag you away from your body pillow to get some breakfast, or will you come willingly?” 

 

Yuuri doesn’t think he deserves the lascivious look Chris bestows upon him, nor the pensive frown Phichit is sending him from the doorway. The happy smile on Victor’s face he accepts, and the quick squeeze to his bicep it gets him as they file out into the living room. There’s a heavy ball of happiness settled in his chest that’s radiating warmth as they pull together breakfast, Chris and Phichit on the couch as he and Victor brew coffee and raid their fridge, and Yuuri can’t really tell if it’s coming from him or Victor, but he loves it. He loves the feeling of buzzing joy as they arrange themselves around the living room, he loves the way Victor is smiling so, so brightly.

 

Chris and Victor fill the apartment with chattering, a back and forth that reminds Yuuri of himself and Phichit when they had lived together. They speak over each other, laughing and poking at each other childishly, and Yuuri relishes it. The only discordant note in their happy morning comes from Phichit, who pulls him aside to do the dishes while Victor goes to shower and Chris is scrolling through his phone. 

 

“Bed sharing, should I ask or are you going to tell me it’s none of my business?” He asks archly.

 

“It… kinda just happened?” Phichit gives him a disbelieving look. “The Cataclysm, it’s been passing emotions over the connection or something - Victor was… sad last night. He didn’t want to talk about it and we just ended up hugging it out I guess -”

 

“How do you feel about it - don’t give me that look Yuuri, you’ve basically worshipped him for half your life, you can’t tell me you’re totally fine with sharing a bed with him, or with the Cataclysm in general. You’re not detached enough to not be overthinking it.” Phichit keeps his voice low, darting a look at the couch over his shoulder and passing Yuuri a mug to dry.

 

“I’m okay. I think I’m okay? No, really I am.” Phichit had given him another raised eyebrow and opened his mouth to argue, “We’ve had a couple of bumps, a couple of miscommunications, but he’s… not what he puts out. He’s nice and kind, I think and he’s nowhere near the ridiculous idea he’s put across in the press. He’s just-  _ Victor! _ ”

 

“Yuuri! You say such nice things about me when I’m not around, why do you never say such pretty things to my face?” Victor had crept up behind him, grabbing him around the middle and jeopardising the structural integrity of the plate he’d been drying when it cracks against the counter loudly. Phichit stifles a laugh against his arm and Chris looks up from his phone just in time to see Yuuri stow the plate safely on the countertop before he turns to his idiotic Cataclysm partner and throws the damp dish towel directly into his face.

 

Yuuri slumps against the counter heavily and buries his face in his hands, before squinting through his fingers and hissing. “You. Are. The.  _ Worst _ .” 

 

“That’s not what you were saying a minute ago!” Victor grins from behind the dish towel as he pulls it from his face. Yuuri just whines into his fingers. “Oh no, Yuuri! I think you’re sweet and nice too!”

 

“Shut. Up. Let me die in peace.”

 

“This is precious, are they always like this?” Chris has moved to the tiny breakfast bar and is watching the show with a loose grin.

 

“Mostly, yeah. Kinda gross right?” Phichit smiles indulgently at the pair of them and Yuuri wishes he could just melt into the tiny square of lino that denotes the kitchen space when Victor laughs. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And again - You guys are amazing, and genuinely make my week with every comment! I can't wait to hear your reactions to Chris' arrival! 
> 
> I have a little more news; Ties is basically finished now with only editing and small fixes to be completed, so I'm moving onto writing my next longfic which is going to be a Fantasy AU with Tree Elf Victor and Hunter Yuuri. I'm posting a teaser of it for Victuuri week and adding it to the Victuuri week collection on AO3. So if you're interested in sneak peeks you should subscribe to my user, or to the Victuuri Week collection on AO3!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A day early because I'm going to be super busy tomorrow night! I want to give a big yelling thanks to everyone who's left me comments and Kudos on the fic so far, you guys are amazing!
> 
> So, uh... I hope this is acceptable.
> 
> -Ducks and runs-

 

Yuuri had, with the best of intentions, invited Christophe Giacometti to stay for the weekend. He had expected to be dragged around Detroit in the wake of him and his best friend, what he hadn’t counted on was the dual insistence of both Victor and Chris that they go out dancing.

 

“But that’s what Saturday night’s are for Yuuri! There’s a song about it and everything!”

 

“Come on, we have to check that Victor still has some rhythm left in his old bones-”

 

“I’m not old, I’m just-”

 

“Ancient. I’m aware Vitya darling.” Chris grins at his best friend, he’s lounging on Victor’s bed while the other man rejects shirt after shirt from his wardrobe. “It’s not like you have much of a choice, Yuuri. Victor’s going, I think that means you have to come.”

 

“Plus, we have to celebrate!” Victor adds, setting aside a pair of pants.

 

“Celebrate?” Yuuri repeats, frowning between the pair as Victor Pulls a shirt from his cramped wardrobe and Chris squints at it for a second before turning his nose up at it. The interaction reeks of practiced familiarity, of a routine set in stone and Yuuri’s happily buzzed that he helped it happen.

 

“Yes! It’s a special occasion Yuuri. It’s not everyday you finish a degree!” Chris supplies, watching Yuuri from the corner of his eye as he adds. “Maybe it’s time to _blow off_ a little steam, hmm?”

 

“Christophe, no. Just no.” Victor scolds him, throwing a balled up shirt at Chris’ head. “Don’t bring your innuendos into my bedroom you -”

 

“But Vitya there’s no better place for innuedo than the bedroom…”

 

Victor groans into his hands and Chris decides to list all of the excellent applications of wordplay between the sheets loudly, clearly enjoying watching Victor getting more and more irate as he goes on. Yuuri disappears from the doorway, leaving them to take a quick shower, but he can hear the bubbling laughter through the thin apartment walls, and feel the happy buzzing over the Cataclysm.

 

Phichit bounces into the apartment while Yuuri is still dripping onto his bedroom carpet and practically tackles him to his bed in his excitement. Phichit is worse than Victor for choosing an outfit, rejecting almost everything in Yuuri’s closet until he’s left wearing jeans tight enough to worry him about circulation, and a shirt that Phichit allows, but only if there’s enough chest left on show to make up for how dull it is. Yuuri allows himself to be poked a prodded by his best friend, knowing that ultimately it’s going to make Phichit happy and Victor and Chris are already pouring drinks in the kitchenette.

 

The first club is packed with people, music upbeat and poppy leaving the group to navigate through crowds and hope not to get their feet crushed as they elbowed their way to the bar. Chris is already checking out the crowd for someone to dance with, Phichit beside him and grabbing his elbow to yell something into the shell of his ear that has him on tiptoe and Chris barking a laugh that disappears into the song that’s pounding over the sound system.

 

“What’re we having?” Victor asks from beside him, he’s leaning into Yuuri’s space to be heard from where he’s settled against the bar with one hip.

 

“Not a clue, is Vodka too much of a stereotype?” Yuuri grins, he can feel Victor’s buzzing happiness as he laughs, his head thrown back.

 

“Not at all, I’m surprisingly partial to Vodka.” Victor is bubbling with amusement, his eyes glittering as he moves further into Yuuri’s space. He’s almost getting used to having Victor this close, to the way their space sharing is becoming almost intuitive.

 

“You’re a walking stereotype I swear-”

 

“Rude, but not wrong. What’s so wrong with enjoying home comforts I wonder?” Victor shrugs, he’s relaxed and happy and the Cataclysm thrums with it. Yuuri’s about to answer when the bartender makes his way to them, ignoring Yuuri in favour of getting Victor’s drink order. Of course the guy is going to gravitate to Victor, he’s all long limbs and grace as he leans over the bar to put their order in, it doesn’t stop the sharp pang of jealousy as the guy touches Victor’s arm and smiles. He fights the feeling down as Victor turns back to him with another bright smile.

 

He can ignore it, he can reduce that feeling to ashes. Who is he to say who Victor flirts with? He’s just the poor SOB who’ll be tagging along on dates or having to find noise cancelling headphones… Nope. No. He’s definitely not going to think about it. Something in his mood shifts a little, he can feel the thought at the back of his mind like gum stuck to the sole of his shoe. Chris buys another round, with shots to accompany it and Yuuri tries to ignore his simmering jealousy and throw himself into dancing, which mainly consists of pogoing with Phichit because the music is pretty much unsuitable for anything else.

 

The walk to the next bar is energetic. Phichit has decided that Chris is just the right height for piggy-backing and hops on before the older man can protest, demanding they find a club that fits their aesthetic, whatever the hell _that_ means. Victor falls into step beside him, burrowing into the collar of his pea coat and shooting him a searching look, “You okay? You’re  a bit… distracted, I think.”

 

“Yeah?” He doesn’t want to agree, he doesn’t want Victor to pick up on the weird squirming feeling that’s burrowing into the back of his head.

 

“”Yeah. If you don’t want to talk about it, it’s fine.” Victor shrugs, watching Phichit laughing as Chris complains about the weight of such a small person and the illogic of physics. Yuuri sighs, shaking his head a little as though it would displace the thoughts.

 

“It’s just me stuff. I’m fine. Ignore it.”

 

“If you’re sure…”

 

“I am.” Yuuri tells him firmly, hoping that none of his preoccupation is being thrown across their connection. He stomps the feeling further down, bricking it away.

 

“Yuuri..” Victor’s steps slow and Yuuri has to turn to face him. Victor is haloed by the yellowish glow of a light pole, bundled against the cold but looking for all the world as though he’s a model on a photoshoot with the trim lines of his coat pulling his figure into delicate lines.

 

“Hmm?” Yuuri has to close the gap between them to catch Victor’s next words, for fear they be lost to the gust of wind that buffets them.

 

“I just wanted to thank you - for inviting Chris here.” Victor gives him a small smile, and small though it is Yuuri relishes it for a moment because this smile is just for him. He shrugs in reply, ducking his head to hide the way his cheeks warm at the thought.

 

“It was nothing, I just -”

 

“You just wanted to make me happy.” Victor supplies, his gaze roaming Yuuri’s face in the dim streetlight.

 

“Well, yeah.” He shrugs again.

 

“Well thank you.” Victor says with feeling, as though there’s more to the words than just a simple acknowledgement. Yuuri wishes there were, wishes that he could be _more_ could make Victor smile over and over and keep every iteration of his smiles to himself, but he can’t.

 

“You’re welcome. Anyway - tonight is meant to be fun right?” He forces a smile and beats back the insidious feeling a little more, focusing on Victor’s still there - if somewhat muted - happiness. “Come on, if we leave it to Phichit we’ll be at a foam party before you know it and I’m not dealing with Chris’ innuendo potential with the addition of wet shirts.”

 

Victor laughs at that as they hurry to catch their companions, who’re in the midst of heated discussion on the ability to apply ballet to all forms of dance, Victor pitching in on the debate and fuelling Phichit’s fervent denial of its versatility. Yuuri only laughs at their combined affront at each other and drags them into a shooters bar he’d hit up a couple of times on night’s out with his fellow business students.

 

The bar is dark, black lighting and heavy bass thrumming against their skin the second they enter and Yuuri can feel it in his back teeth. It’s exactly what he needs, somewhere so loud that even he can’t hear himself think, let alone whatever Victor is telegraphing across their connection. He grabs a round of shots from a passing staff member, not bothering to ask what they are before handing them to Chris and Victor and throwing his own back. Chris points towards the bar and employs the universal gesture for a round with a smile, heading off into the crowd when they nod.

 

They find a second round of shots before Chris manages to get back with drinks, just himself and Victor this time, who shoots him a challenging look and salutes him with his glass. He licks his lips when he finishes it and Yuuri barely notices himself mirroring the gesture, he does notice Phichit disappearing into the crowd, but only because he’s dragged away from watching Victor’s lips to see Phichit miming looking and yelling ‘Chris’ in his ear before he goes. It’s a bare second of lost eye contact, but in the second he looks away Victor has attracted a guy to his side who’s got a hand around his elbow and is leaning into his space.

 

Victor shakes the guy off not even looking at him, he’s watching Yuuri. The music is grinding and heavy, with bass so deep instead of hearing it, it reverberates in Yuuri’s abdomen. He doesn’t know who reaches first, but Victor is out of the guys grip with a shrug and grabbing Yuuri’s hand, dragging him further into the mass of bodies, losing them in the crowd. The ease with which Victor shrugs the guy off and takes his hand has a happy bubble of warmth settling in his chest.

 

Yuuri’s the _worst_. He shouldn’t be getting so jealous. He hasn’t got a claim on Victor Nikiforov, unless you count the turn of fate that had slammed them together. Yuuri knows his bias’, he knows when it comes to Victor he’s a lost cause, but he also knows that Victor hadn’t even known of his existence until they’d been flung at one another. He just has to wait this out, wait until whatever is keeping them together breaks, and then Victor can go on his way…

 

Victor comes to a halt and Yuuri almost collides with his back, he grabs another couple of shots from a passing tray, handing Yuuri his and scanning the crowd, obviously looking for Phichit or Chris. He’s not sure what comes over him, perhaps it’s the drinks making him feel loose, or the way Victor hadn’t even looked at the guy who’d tried to talk to him before grabbing his hand- but his right hand lands on Victor’s hip and the crowd jostle them closer, still. Victor’s eye catches his over his shoulder as they down their shots. Yuuri’s grip tightens on Victor’s waist, it’s nothing more than the briefest of contacts but Yuuri pulls Victor back to him, earning him a second look from Victor, there’s something in his eye that means trouble- but Yuuri just raises a brow to it, waiting to see what he’ll do.

 

The moment hangs in the air - teeters on a precipice - the [ song ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bpOSxM0rNPM) changes as they watch each other. It’s almost like a cue they’ve been waiting for, the bass hits and he’s moving with the drumbeat and the grinding guitars. Victor’s fingers meet his, linking and gripping around as he pushes back into the contact. The last time they had danced, it had been bright and bubbly, driven by too many glasses of Champagne and a ‘fuck it!’ attitude that had dragged them on with laughter and smiles.

 

_This is not that._

 

This is the turn of Victor’s hips as he sinks into the heavy bass, the grasping of Yuuri’s fingers against the skin of his abdomen. This is Victor’s hand guiding his, dragging against his shirt. He can feel the shift of the muscles under his hand, the rough contact as they move together, the way Victor is moving back into his space even further and _pressing_. His grip redoubles, his left hand creeping up and over the expanse of Victor’s throat where he’s thrown his head back, still watching Yuuri from the corner of his eye, but there’s a heat behind that look that has Yuuri’s thoughts spinning off kilter- or maybe that’s the shots.

 

Victor turns in his arms, the momentum connecting them hip to chest as his hands settle against the back of Yuuri’s neck sending a cascade of shivering tension over his skin. He can feel the pooling heat in his groin that’s being fuelled by the way Victor and he move together. Victor’s breath is coming in short bursts, he can feel it against his lips as Victor closes his eyes and rests his forehead against Yuuri’s, he can't take his eyes from where Victor’s lip is caught in his teeth for just a second before another breath frees it. Victor smells like the vodka he’s been drinking only the smallest hint of his cologne making its way to Yuuri’s frazzled brain.

 

He can’t take his eyes from Victor’s lips. He can’t think past the way Victor’s short nails grip the back of his neck for just a second. He’s moving on instinct, his fingers are roaming over Victor’s back for a second, settling just on the curve of his ass the next, their breaths are mingling and chests connecting over and over as they work against each other. He can feel more than hear the blood rushing in his ears, he can feel the way his body is reacting, he can feel the firm push of Victor’s thigh between his own.

 

He can feel the torrent of unidentifiable emotion over the bond, it’s bright, a happy but heavy something… It’s not sparking; it’s intense and hot. It’s shuddering up his spine and locking against his chest, dragging like it so often has against his abdomen and wishing them even closer. He doesn’t know which of them is causing it, or if it’s both. He doesn’t know what it is, but it’s there.

 

_He..._

 

If he had a little more courage, he could bridge the gap between their lips. If he were brave enough, he could pull Victor the inch closer that would have them pushing towards something new and different and wholly unfathomable - He can’t though. The thought makes him pause, has him out of his body and back in his mind in seconds. He shouldn’t be doing this, he’s too close, Victor doesn’t want this… Victor’s watching him, his chest heaving and breath short as Yuuri pulls from his grip, there’s something in his gaze that has him shivering even as he curls in on himself a little, turning away from Victor. He can’t do this to himself, he can’t allow himself to fall into a trap of closeness when it could be ripped away any time.

 

He’s saved by Chris, sliding through the crowd with his hands full of drinks and grinning at the pair of them, he’s about to claim his glass when a hand fastens around his wrist and Victor is pulling him away from their friends and into the bathroom, dodging around couples and groups with no regard for Yuuri being dragged in his wake.

 

“Victor, what-” The door to the bathroom slams shut behind them, doing little to shut out the heavy noise of the club. Yuuri finds himself being stared down by a frown and an unhappy look.

 

“What was that, Yuuri?” Victor is advancing on him, slowly but conspicuously backing him into the sinks.

 

“I- uh.” He shouldn’t talk about it, he doesn’t want to even _think_ about it. The last two months have been a crash course in denying his attraction, even if his subconscious keeps tripping him up, throwing heavy handed dreams at him - he doesn’t have to acknowledge it.

 

“Because for a moment I thought…”

 

“Nothing. It’s nothing.” His treacherous mind supplies him with flashes of his dreams, with exposed skin and clasped hands, with the feel of Victor moving against him just as the music had run them through with _something_.

 

“It didn’t feel like nothing.” Victor sounds almost bitter, “And that. Whatever you’re thinking right now, I _know_ I can’t be imagining-”

 

“It’s not important.” He’s shrinking back into himself, as though making himself a smaller target would remove Victor’s gaze as it pins him. He’s looking for a way past Victor, eyes darting between the empty stalls and the door.

 

“Yuuri, look at me.”

 

He doesn’t want to, he feels sick with himself, at his presumption, at the way his subconscious keeps throwing him through a loop every time he thinks he and Victor can be on an even keel. Every time he feels like he’s got his feet under him and he can make this ridiculous situation work, he’s pulled back to helpless pining. The swirl of his thoughts ceases when Victor’s hand grasps his chin, pulling his face up and back to Victor’s gaze.

 

“Please, Yuuri. Please?” His thumb runs over a cheek, settling on his lower lips for a brief second. “I don’t _know_ , I can’t tell what you’re thinking, I… Sometimes I think you want this - want me - and then you pull away from me again.” He can’t speak. Victor has him pinned with his body and with words against the grubby sinks and he doesn’t dare move for fear of what he might break. Victor’s eyes track over his face for a moment his expression closed off, before fixating on his lips. “I…” He swallows, licking his lips again. He’s still staring at Yuuri’s lips. “Stop me, Yuuri. If you don’t want this…”

 

Yuuri doesn’t stop him.

 

He doesn’t even try.

 

Instead he leans into Victor’s hand and his eyes flutter closed at the first touch of their lips. He’s holding his breath, hoping this isn’t another quirk of his subconscious. He knows it can’t be, though. His dreaming brain would never have supplied the way Victor’s lips are a little chapped after a long night’s drinking and dancing, wouldn’t have brought into his dreams the way Victor’s thumb presses against his jawbone for a second, nor would it have been able to imagine the way their connection flares under the touch and takes his breath away.

 

Every touch they’ve shared so far has been glancing sparks and tingling skin, but this is something new and different. It’s almost overwhelming, the blinding brightness that is this kiss. It’s searing against his rationality. He moves before he knows it, gripping hands finding their way to Victor’s hair and taking control, guiding Victor into place against the sinks he’d been pinned against and licking into his mouth greedily searching for more. More of Victor, more of the blinding feeling of rightness that’s pulling him from his rationality, more of the taste of Vodka. Deeper and deeper, Victor is gripping his shirt and there’s the sound of a heated sigh through his nose as he opens up to Yuuri. Their lips are a searing point of contact, the Cataclysm taking the feeling and redoubling it over and over itself in a feedback loop that has Yuuri breathless in moments.

 

“ _Yuuri…”_ His name is a devotion on Victor's lips, offered up between kisses and he wants to hear it a hundred- a thousand times. He wants to know every iteration of the way Victor can moan his name.

 

His blood is thumping in his veins, the heat they’d built up during their dance, the way Victor is making such delicious noises as they pull closer and closer - there’s only one way this is going, and Yuuri’s not entirely adverse to the outcome… He can feel the roiling build of their arousal in the pit of his stomach, it’s radiating out and making his head spin more than the shots they’d thrown back.

 

Victor’s thigh presses between his own again, his hands are on the curve of Yuuri’s ass, fingers digging into the meat of it. The contact makes him even more fervent. He wants this, he needs this - He’s been dreaming and wishing for this for _years_ , and now here they are, trapped in each other’s grasp. No dream can compare, no fanboy daydream can come close - Victor isn’t some placid thing responding only under Yuuri’s coercion, he’s gripping and pulling, he’s as hungry as Yuuri is, he’s passionate and gasping. He’s pulling away to catch his breath, blush high on his cheeks and hair in complete disarray. Yuuri chases his lips when they leave and Victor grins indulgently, but the low pulse of arousal across their connection betrays him.

 

Yuuri loves it, love this feeling, loves this moment. Even as Victor is catching his lips again, softer this time, gentle. It’s a weight of warmth and something sweet on the tip of his tongue - or that’s what the Cataclysm is telling him. It’s dialing down from a roaring to a happy glow, and Yuuri almost wants to groan in frustration at the change. He doesn’t though, because Victor is pressing their chests together trying to get them even closer, he’s kissing him deeply and sweetly. The heat of moments ago is giving way beneath something akin to affection, something fond and kind and so, so close to loving that Yuuri feels swamped by it.

 

They’re interrupted by the swinging of the door, the sudden burst of bass and laughter as a pair of guys come falling into the bathroom, clearly inebriated and careless of their preoccupation as they shuffle into a separate stalls, slamming the doors noisily. Yuuri pulls away so quickly that he nearly topples the both of them, he’s hindered by Victor’s fingers where they’re quickly fastened around his bicep, pulling him back in to whisper, “Later.” hotly against his ear.

 

* * *

 

Later doesn’t happen. Later gets buried in more and more shots once they rejoin their friends, Chris’ exuberance and need to dance to every single song. Later gets misaligned by Yuuri’s thought processes going offline after the fourth shot following their bathroom excursion. Later is disappearing under the weight of Victor’s head on his shoulder in the cab and the droop of Yuuri’s eyelids. He’s exhausted, drunk, and too buzzed from the combination to do more than collapse into bed when they get back to the apartment with Phichit curled up on the space left around his carcass.

 

Later isn’t on the cards the next morning either, he’s woken by Phichit who’s far too chirpy and full of life as only the sober party in the group can be, waking Yuuri with the jostling of the mattress and accidentally allowing Makkachin to trample him in her joy at being let into Yuuri’s room. His mood isn’t improved by the knowing looks his best friend and Chris are shooting at him.

 

“You and Victor seem very friendly these days…”

 

“Practically newlywed.” Phichit agrees, setting half a loaf worths of toast on the counter and waving away Chris’ protest at the carb value with a laugh and the excuse of soaking up Yuuri’s hangover. “It’s almost sickening, wouldn’t you agree Mr. Giacometti?”

 

“Well, Mr. Chulanont I do agree, and the scene they made at the Grand Prix banquet would seem to strengthen our argument-” Chris flashes an insinuating grin. “I have evidence of their incredibly shocking behaviour, if you’d like to see?” He waves his cellphone at Phichit across the breakfast bar. Yuuri can’t structure sentences well enough yet to defend himself.

 

“You should send me them for future reference.” Phichit is practically vibrating looking through the camera roll, exclaiming over the pictures that Yuuri is trying His Very Best to not look at, but he’s drawn like a moth to the flame and watching picture after picture of himself and Victor moving through the sparse banquet crowd.

 

His ears are already flaming red, so why wouldn’t Victor come out of his bedroom at just that moment and greet him with a kiss to the temple and a soft touch to his arm as he leans in to see what their friends are looking at? Fate has always had it in for him it seems. He stiffens under Victor’s hand as Victor joins Phichit in his examination, proclaiming an image where Yuuri is dipping him as his favorite and sending it to his own cellphone.

 

“Okay, now that I’ve been suitably mortified before ten am on sunday morning, can we please change the subject?” It comes out far more defensive than he’d meant it to, and Phichit gives him a tiny frown.

 

“Hmm, sure. How about we discuss the facilities in the last bar. You and Victor must have given them a very thorough examination considering how long you spent in there.” The lascivious wink that follows up this statement has Yuuri beet red and stammering out a response, but Victor cuts over him with a light laugh.

 

“ _Chris!_ ” He taps the back of his free hand - the one currently not wrapped around Yuuri - against Chris’ bicep. “Manners cost nothing, and gentlemen never kiss and tell.” He tops it off with a wink of his own, just for Yuuri. It’s like the straw that broke the camel's back and Yuuri jumps from his chair with a vague excuse about showering as he darts away.

 

The water pressure eases the tension he’s accrued in his shoulders as it cascades over him, he’s too wrapped up in his own thoughts and he knows it. So what if Chris and Phichit think he and Victor are domestic? They should be after living together for nearly two months. So what if they think it’s funny that Yuuri has no self control or idea of self-preservation when he’s had a few drinks? So what if Victor had reeled him into his grasp last night and held him there for some unknown stretch of time as they worked each other up? That’s what happens when two guys who spend far too much time together drink, isn’t it?

 

 _Well, no. Not really._ His mind whispers. _You never pinned Phichit against any surface and sucked face with him in the year you lived together._

 

_Victor is different. Victor is different to Phichit, and you know it._

 

His brain is very clearly conspiring with his friends to drive him crazy.

 

He shoves the thoughts away as soon as they form, soaping up and rinsing off hurriedly, before he gets accused of hiding himself away. When he rejoins the group, they’re chatting animatedly about the night before and still eating. He’s about to suggest they make plans for the day, more as a subject change than anything else, when Chris’ phone lights up in on the bar.

 

“Ugh, my coach. You’d think he’d have better things to do -” He’s cut off by the trill of Victor’s phone and Yuuri’s ringing simultaneously with Yakov and Celestino’s contacts brightening their screens.

 

They share a confused look before answering.

 

“Yuuri! Ciao Ciao, You’re with Phichit?” Celestino has never been one for small talk, so the moment the assures his former coach of them being together he’s told to put him on speaker.

 

“Uh, yeah hold on- Phichit.” He gestures away from the babble of Russian and French and to his bedroom, stopping inside the doorway to switch his phone over and allow Phichit to hear the conversation. Chris’ conversation is rising in volume and Victor is exclaiming in Russian so he pulls the door closed to afford them a little privacy.

 

“Yuuri, Phichit! I’ve just had an email from the ISU and they’re about to announce the line-ups for Worlds! We’ve got a bit of work to do to get you both up to performance standards, especially you Yuuri, but with seven weeks until the competition I have every faith in the both of you-”

 

“Wait, what -”

 

“Worlds? Coach, that’s amazing!”

 

“Yes! Phichit, this is going to be a big step for you, but the Thai candidate from last season can’t make it due to Cataclysm restraints, so they’ve put your name down because of your PCS in nationals this year! And Yuuri -” Celestino sounds pleased for Phichit, Yuuri is too, it’s a big leap but he knows his best friend has it in him, but...

 

“Wait, Coach. I’m not- I said I wasn’t continuing.”

 

“Yes, you did. However you’ve been seeded for Japan as their best skater, and even without hoping to rank on the podium, I thought since you’d be attending because of Victor that maybe you could…” Celestino seems to run out of steam for a moment, he rallies himself with a small sigh and continues. “Yuuri, the GPF was hard for you, we both know that. The Cataclysm hasn’t made it any easier, but- hear me out.” Yuuri makes to interrupt but is cowed by the rising passion in his coaches tone. “You can do better, you _will_ do better, especially if you’re training with Victor- I’ve seen you both out on the ice the last few weeks. You might be playing it off as messing around, but Victor is _helping_ you. Maybe you could take that help; that expertise, and bring it to Worlds to make your country and your coach proud?”

 

He’s aware of Phichit watching him, hopeful and bubbling with excitement. He’s aware of the sudden burst of happiness that has blossomed in his abdomen, surely from Victor’s reception of the news. He hears his hurried steps and feels the Cataclysm radiating warmth as Victor approaches, not bothering to knock, and bringing Chris in his wake. “Yuuri! Worlds is on!!” He bursts out as he enters.

 

“I was just telling him that Victor.” Yuuri can practically hear his coach rolling his eyes, “Yuuri?”

 

“I’ll -” He’s going to say he’ll think about it, that he’ll weigh his options and see if he really thinks he can get his programs back into shape in such a short space of time, but his mind is already providing him images gilded in gold. Himself and Victor both on the podium, beaming at each other as they display their medals. It’s an image he’s had in his mind for years, but now it has more weight, because Victor is already here, waiting expectantly with a broad, bright smile on his face.

 

“I’ll do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading guys! If you need me I'm always around on Tumblr and Twitter as topcatnikki <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi All!
> 
> I just finished editing this and thought I'd throw it at you all! I'm going to be expediting the update process from here on out, because I hate to leave you all hanging!

Victor Nikiforov is a gigantic pain in Yuuri’s ass.

For all of Yuuri’s confidence at being able to pick up where he’d left off with his training and swan back into Worlds with glitter and gusto, Victor is kicking his ass three ways from sunday every single day on the rink, and then hovering over him the moment they get back to the apartment.

And he keeps on _touching_ him.

A hand on his elbow as they enter the rink, on his shoulder as he emphasises the importance of a particular part of his step sequence. He’s taken to touching his lips in consideration while watching Yuuri’s jumps, just another little touch that is driving Yuuri crazy. He’s having a hard enough time getting his jumps down right now, let alone trying and failing to watch as Victor’s gaze fixes intently on his form as he enters his quad salchow.

The touching doesn’t stop once they’re home, either - it multiplies and gains a new emphasis that has Yuuri even edgier. No matter how many times he’s passed Victor in their tiny apartment, squeezing around him in the kitchenette, he’ll feel a press of fingers on his lower back that lingers long after.

Each little touch, the weight of Victor’s regard. It’s wearing him thin in ways that has him tripping the line between sanity and just throwing himself into something Very Bad without thought or regard for himself or Victor. It’s not _just_ the scream of his muscles that has him locked in the shower for excessive lengths of time. He kinda wishes it _was_ though.

His jumps have been the biggest issue with resuming training, for all that he’d been messing around on the ice with Victor between finals and thesis writing, the muscle memory is there but the muscles… they’re in the works, _again_. It’s been so long since he’s had to wear his body into this shape, he’s almost grateful for the exhaustion it causes as he works himself in the gym and on the ice because he’s left with little or no time to _think_ when he passes out at night. If he had time to _think_ he’d be stuck on the looks Victor gives him over the boards, the way he tracks Yuuri’s progress over the ice, the super secret new program he’s working on that’s all hips and legs and heated looks…

No, exhaustion is the best way to go right now, even if Victor fusses at him about how hard he’s working himself. He has to. He _has_ to, if he wants to climb the podium at world with Victor. He has to if he wants to redeem himself after his failure at the Grand Prix Finals. _He has to -_

“Yuuri.” Victor looks over the top of his phone, collapsed on the couch with Makka warming his legs. They’ve just returned from her walk and Yuuri is making tea. Or he had been - apparently he’d paused in the middle of selecting a tea bag and is staring at the box in his hand, unseeing. “Whatever you’re thinking right now is not good.”

“What?” He blinks, trying to pull himself from the cyclical thinking that had his heart rate picking up.

“You’re flitting about in the back of my brain like a hummingbird. It’s very distracting.” Victor locks his phone, dropping it to his chest. “Anything you want to talk about?”

“I’m fine.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t, but something is bothering you and therefore bothering me.”

“I’m okay. Just, me stuff again.” He shrugs lightly, his thoughts had been- Nope, not going back there. Victor’s eyes narrow as he watches him, focus sliding away from Yuuri for a moment.

“You’re worried, I think? Worried about a few things with different levels of worry? Wow thats vague.” Victor laughs at himself. “It’s strange, being able to pick this stuff up, but helpful.”

“You think this is _helpful_?” Yuuri can’t help the incredulous tone that tinges the question.

“Well, my Cataclysm partner doesn’t use words, Yuuri. So yes I think it’s a little helpful.”

“I just don’t -” He stops himself there, he’s not going to tell Victor the stuff in his head. It’s bad enough in his own mind without giving Victor nightmares about falling on the ice and making a fool of himself every night, or the _other_ dreams. The ones he doesn’t dwell on during daylight, but keeps on revisiting over and over in his sleep. “I don’t have anything to say about it.”

Victor doesn’t reply, but the frown deepens and Yuuri can feel the weight of his gaze as he makes his way to the relative safety of his bedroom.

 

* * *

 

Eros.

That’s what Victor has been working on at the rink, the super secret program he’s been choreographing between skype calls with Yakov and watching Yuuri humiliate himself daily on the ice. He’s been working on his goddamned _Eros_. Yuuri feels a choking hysterical laugh bubble up his throat when Victor skates it for him.

Gorgeous, funny, sweet, sexy. These are all things that Yuuri has discovered Victor is. Subtle is not one of those things. He’s skating a routine about sex. About eroticism, about body worship and devotion to all things flesh. He’s skating it in Yuuri’s home rink, with his eyes on Yuuri, and with a hip cocked in his direction. He’s skating it with heated looks and pursed lips to kick the whole thing off, all of it directed at Yuuri.

Victor is not subtle, and Yuuri is not _that_ oblivious.

The routine had only come to fruition after that night, after they… kissed.

He is not that oblivious. He is not this stupid, he is not this thirsty…

...That night he dreams of the club, of the sound of bass being dulled by the closed door and the give of Victor’s lips against his own.

 

* * *

 

 

“You’re being obtuse and you know it, Yuuri.” The apartment door slams with the force of the frustration that Yuuri can feel directed at him through the Cataclysm, “You can’t keep throwing yourself into training like that and just expect me to ignore -”

“I don’t see how it’s any of your concern- If I want to get into shape for Worlds I need to -”

“You don’t!” Victor looks furious. He looks like he’s about to punch Yuuri, and Yuuri wouldn’t blame him if he did. He _is_ being obtuse, he’s being self destructive and idiotic because he’s too worn down by life right now to care, but even if he had eaten ice six times today trying to land his Toe Loop, it’s not really up to Victor to fix the skewed rationality that’s driving him along. “You think Worlds is more important than your health? You think some trinket that ends up stuffed in the back of a closet is worth your career if you keep pushing yourself into injury?”

Now _Yuuri_ wants to punch _Victor_.

“It’s not just some _trinket_ and you know it, it’s more than that to me - Just because you have enough medals to bury yourself with doesn’t take their worth away from anyone else -”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about -”

“Neither do _you_.” The frustration is bubbling through their connection. Yuuri wants to storm out and find the ice again, to pour it out where he can at least use it well, but Victor won’t _allow_ him.

He can feel Victor across the connection, feel the way his emotions are swarming and crawling around them, around _him_. There’s a pulling away, a dampening effect for a second that has Yuuri pause in removing his shoes.

Victor turns away from him, but the shaking tension in his shoulders and the way his face is buried in his hands are a dead giveaway. Victor is _crying_. Yuuri has made Victor Nikiforov _cry_. The connection is weirdly muted, as though the focus is out, and Yuuri realises it’s him. He’s done this by pulling away and away, by putting up block after block up against Victor in every way possible.

“I don’t want you hurt, Yuuri.” His voice is a little shaky when he speaks, muffled by his hands. “They’re not worth it, even if you don’t see them as trinkets, the medals aren’t worth you being hurt - not to me.”

Yuuri's a complete and actual asshole, because in his infinite wisdom instead of shutting up and letting things lie, he says, “I don't even know why you care.”

The reaction is instantaneous. The Cataclysm connection boils over with hurt and anger in a flash that has him reeling and he can feel the hooks of it dragging him forward and into Victor’s space. He tries to fight it, but it's insistently pulling at him and he can see Victor trying to fight it away even as their distance shortens. There's a pulse of panic threaded through the connection that Yuuri feels in his back teeth as the distance melts between them.

Victor Nikiforov is crying in his face, and it's all Yuuri's fault.

Victor doesn't say a word to him, he just turns his back and steps away as far as the connection will allow, all of three feet. The Cataclysm pulses with a visceral scream of pain when he tries to move for himself, brutal and punishing in the same way the words they’d said to each other had been. It hurts and it drags at him, a physical grinding in his stomach that claws into his spine.

He takes a breath, trying to steady himself but the Cataclysm doubles over itself when he attempts to put some much needed space between them. Victor stiffens at the feeling, spine ramrod straight and his hands curling into fists by his sides.

“ _Don’t._ ” He sounds pained, hurt and worn out. He still hasn’t turned around… he won’t let Yuuri see him right now, and that more than anything tips him over the edge. Yuuri resigns himself to the fact that they're stuck.

 

* * *

 

 

Victor won't talk to him.

They've managed to negotiate around each other so far- mostly with sharp looks whenever the Cataclysm rears it ugly head because they're pulling against it. Dinner had been made in complete silence, with them moving just as intuitively as usual, but none of their usual warmth as they chat about their days.

Yuuri had had to blushingly request they shower; Victor had nodded tersely and followed him into the bathroom, turning his back as Yuuri slipped from his clothes and into the tiny cubicle. It had been less than comfortable to switch places - Victor had undressed during Yuuri's own shower and slipped past him wordlessly as he exited. So Yuuri had the pleasure of shivering in his towel with his back turned awkwardly while Victor used up the last of the water.

Redressing was even more of a chore, because neither of them had wished to communicate enough to grab sleep clothes and both attempted to enter their own bedrooms first, the Cataclysm was brutal in its punishment. Yuuri could feel the claws at his abdomen dragging him back to Victor.

Because Yuuri has apparently pissed off every hypothetical capricious God and Fate all at once, they settle into Victor's bed in dead silence still and Yuuri falls asleep almost instantly only to revisit the weird dreamscape where he and Victor are lovers.

They're curled around each other, Victor is tracing a finger over Yuuri's lips and smiling as he leans in to capture them, pulling a light laugh from Yuuri and earning another kiss. They're happy, they're close and warm. They're everything that Yuuri has kicked to the curb in the real world.

But this isn't the real world, so Yuuri throws himself into it, he captures Victor for another kiss and another, hearing the other hum in approval as they spread warmth into each other with tiny presses of lips and sweeps of fingers.

He rolls them, pulling Victor onto him and encouraging him to warm them in better ways with presses of his fingers against Victor's ass. They're working up into something hot and heavy now, kisses laden with their desire for one another and pushing them further into the flow of each other.

Victor rolls away from him, probably to fish out the lube and condoms from his bedside, and Yuuri chases after his lover with a laugh and presses himself against his back, rutting against him and drawing a shudder from the other man.

It might be the shudder that physically drags him from his dream, or the burning point of contact that is his groin pressing into Victor's ass. Either way Yuuri is suddenly very conscious and very aware that he's pressing Victor into his mattress.

The arm he has slung around Victor's middles tenses as he tries to make sense of what he's doing, of what he had been doing, Victor turns in his arms with a sleepy smile on his lips and kisses him. Deeply, searching, in the same way he'd been kissing in the dream, a smile pressed against Yuuri’s lips and melting against his body.

He tries to pull away again, “Victor -”

“Yuuri…” He must be half asleep, he must be unconscious, he must be.

He has to be, because Victor's hands are sliding under his shirt leaving trailing sparks in their wake, and easing around his midriff to bring them closer as he kisses Yuuri again. Victor is pushing into the close contact and rutting against him in tiny increments that has his heart thumping heavily, the Cataclysm hums with lazy approval of their connection. His skin is singing under Victor's fingers as they catch on his waistband, skimming along the skin in a swipe that has his spine arching.

This is bad, Victor needs to wake the hell up. Right Now. Dreaming about something and waking up to it in the same night is more than Yuuri's fragile rationality can handle, and the way Victor is moving against him has him wanting to roll them over and take control in a way that would be overstepping every rule of friendship he's ever known.

 _Victor isn't your friend - you don't think_ these _thoughts about friends_.

“Victor, I need you to wake up now.” Please, please let him wake up. Victor kisses him again, deeper and far more heatedly, when he pulls away he meets Yuuri's gaze with his own, a blush high on his cheeks and lips plush and pinked from their kissing. The Cataclysm retreats again, pulling back and away just as Victor's fingers leave his skin in the same instant and his expression closes off. “Victor -”

“I'm sorry.” He makes to move away, to separate, but Yuuri's traitorous body moves before he can think himself out of it and catches Victor's jaw. The touch of his fingers send tiny sparks up his arm, warming him as he watches Victor's expression for a second.

He's closing off and pulling away, but Yuuri holds him, watching Victor watching him. He can feel the scales tipping, the rational part of his brain fighting against the passionate. The Cataclysm warms again, the longer they watch each other the heavier it gets, pulsing against his shaky logic and pushing him forward. Victor is warm under his hand and warm through their connection, and Yuuri has spent so long out in the cold he’s tired of it. He's here in this moment with Victor.

It's not a dream, it's not some fanboy fantasy, it's real. In this moment, Victor wants him. Victor wants him with the pulse of arousal that’s pressing through the Cataclysm, and the way he presses into Yuuri’s touch. He doesn’t say it, nor does Yuuri. Putting words to the feeling feels too definite and hard edged for something that’s so fragile. Yuuri has wanted Victor in so many different ways for so fucking long that he's not sure which of them is more surprised by the kiss.

Maybe surprised isn't the right word.

Maybe neither of them _is_ surprised by it, because the touch of their lips is lighting fires on the edge of the Cataclysm. “ _Victor…_ ” This time the name isn't admonishing, nor panicked - it's a purr of permission against Victor's mouth that has them coming together again and again pushing desire into each other with teeth and tongue.

Yuuri does roll them then, pinning Victor beneath him and taking advantage of the position to let his hands roam as freely as Victor's had only minutes ago. The Cataclysm is bleeding arousal and heat, flaring in his abdomen and pooling in his groin. Victor is pulling at the edge of his sleep shirt inching it up with it bunched at his wrists, hands recapturing his earlier investigation and roaming further up his spine, sending shivers and sparks in cascades over Yuuri as he repays the favour.

He pulls away for a second to divest himself of his shirt and catches sight of Victor beneath him, bracketed by his knees and thoroughly ruffled. His cheeks are pink, his shirt awry on his chest, breath coming in huffed bursts. Victor reaches for him, expression open and wanting and filled with something Yuuri can't quite place. Their connection is buzzing with anticipation, with a need that has Yuuri pulling Victor's shirt free far more hastily than he had planned and pulling Victor up to kiss him once again.

“ _Please, Yuuri…_ ” he can feel the press of Victor's erection, feel the shifting desperation of his kisses as they move against each other. His hands wander lower, mapping the heat of Victor's skin as he divests him of his pants, Victor returning the favour between kisses and stuttered breaths.

Naked Victor Nikiforov is something Yuuri has seen before, mostly. Several risqué photo shoots in his early twenties having fuelled Yuuri's teen fantasies in the early days of his libidos awakening, and the little left to the imagination Yuuri had happily filled in himself. The real Victor is laying on his sheets displayed for Yuuri like something from his personal spank bank fully realised, but the real Victor is blushing higher and brighter than he had ever imagined. He looks a little uncertain under Yuuri's regard leaning back into the pillows and hiding behind one forearm. It makes his mouth flood at the sight, he wants to feel every inch of Victor. He wants to run his tongue over the jut of his hip bones and lap at the bead of precum at the tip of his cock.

Victor, clearly tired of being a feast for Yuuri's eyes reaches up, pulling Yuuri to him and capturing his lips in a kiss that tinges their connection with lust and bruises his lips with the force of it. It's sloppy and a little too hard and Yuuri relishes the tiny groan it pulls from Victor when he follows the momentum and pushes him back into the abandoned pillows.

They're rutting against one another now, lost to the sensations of flesh against flesh, and hushing their cries into each other's mouths, connecting over and over, mindless of anything but the way the pleasure builds as the friction of skin on skin pulls them under.

“ _Yuuri -_ ” The sound of his name on Victor's lips is a plea for more, and Yuuri has never been one to deny Victor Nikiforov anything.

He breaks away only long enough to lick a stripe up his palm and then he's back on Victor again. The space between their bodies accommodating the loose fist he wraps them both in, saliva and sweat providing the smallest of relief as they push into the loop of his fingers.

It doesn't take long, after that. Victor bows up and cries out, louder than any of his muted sighs and breathy pleas as he spills on his chest and abdomen. The throb of his climax pulses through the Cataclysm and Yuuri feels it in the curl of his toes and the crashing tide of sensation that has his hips stuttering and muscles locking with the force of his orgasm. Victor kisses him through it, echoing his approval through their connection and holding Yuuri close.

 

* * *

 

 

Yuuri is used to being something of a failure at life. He’s used to being a little irritated at himself and giving himself a mental telling off at a moment's notice. What Yuuri is not used to is succeeding without even trying. He had never, ever set out to seduce Victor. It had never even registered as a possibility until Victor had come to him, had reached out with words and hands and taken him in.

When Yuuri wakes up on a Perfectly Normal Tuesday morning, the light of the dawn breaking into his sleep addled brain and dragging him into consciousness, with the remnants of his and Victor’s night together flaking onto the egyptian cotton sheets he does what any normal failure at life would do - and Panics.

Not the spiralling of thoughts that drag him into the depths of his own mind either, but the blank brained panic that has him high-tailing it out of the bedroom at top speed and into the shower with Victor calling his name sleepily in his wake. The shower doesn’t help matters, he catches sight of himself in the mirror above the sink and can’t stop himself from gaping at the very obvious hickey purpling his collarbone, he’d earned at some point during the night. His own blushing reflection is too sexed up to contemplate.

It doesn’t occur to him until he’s in the tiny kitchenette, blankly making coffee and watching the percolator drip-drip-drip away, that this is the furthest he’s been from Victor for half a day. He doesn’t want to consider _those_ implications.

Victor greets him with a kiss to his temple after his own shower, leaning to catch Yuuri as he helps himself to coffee.

Yuuri squawks awkwardly and Victor backs off instantly. The Cataclysm, which had been happily buzzing for the duration of the morning suddenly sours, but Victor is still smiling brightly. It’s the fake smile, the one that Yuuri hates. There’s a shard of glass lodged in his throat as he forces his way through small talk enough to get them through breakfast and off for their morning run. He feels it lodge deeper when he’s strapping on his skates and Victor asks him imploringly to _try_ not to over do it.

“Yuuri, are you okay?” They’re talking a water break, Phichit watching him with a small frown.

“I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” His voice cracks horribly on the word fine and he cringes.

“Well the voice crack in the middle of that statement and the fact that you’ve been aimlessly skating your compulsory figures for the last half hour seem to suggest otherwise…” Phichit’s gaze sharpens, giving him a once over that has Yuuri squirming at the attention. When his eyes fixate on his right shoulder and his hand darts out to follow Yuuri backs off quickly. “No. Nonono. You did _not_ \- You _did!_ ”

“It’s not -” Phichit cuts him off quickly, batting away his reply.

“What it looks like? Because it looks like you went three rounds with a vacuum and loved every second of it.”

“I - it was -”

“Victor. Yes, I’d guessed. While you’ve been ignoring the rest of the world and wasting training time, Victor has been off in one corner doing that sex skate that makes you pop a boner and staring at you.” Yuuri almost wants to argue, _almost_. “So you guys are…?”

“I have no clue - We… had an argument? And I don’t think we’ve even resolved that yet -”

“You had an argument, and then he gave you a hickey? What is this, high school?” Phichit is frowning again, all playfulness dropping away in seconds. “You’re too old for this schoolyard crap, Yuuri. And you _like_ Victor, for all that you’re not seeing it apparently, he likes _you_ too. I swear he spends more time staring at you at any given moment than actually training. You need to talk to him.”

“It's not that easy, Phichit.” He wishes it was, he wishes they had met in some normal fashion and he'd been funny and charming and debonair; catching Victor's attention and holding it in his own right. Life wasn't that simple though, nothing was simple about the Cataclysm. “This thing between us makes everything a hundred times more complicated -”

“Maybe it does, yes. But I don't want you burying yourself under the concept of the Cataclysm and not seeing anything else around it. I don't know what it's like, I don't know how it feels, but I know you and I'm getting to know Victor. You guys are good for each other, Yuuri.” He wants to protest, but Phichit gives him a flat look. “No Yuuri, you are - both of you. For all that you want to deny it you're different, and so is he and it could be something amazing for you if you'll just accept it.”

“Phichit -”

“And resolve whatever petty crap caused the argument. You have better things to be doing than arguing and I'm too busy training to kick your ass at World's to be your personal therapist.” This last is punctuated with a bright smile and Phichit heading back onto the rink.

He has to get this sorted out. Last night had been a mistake, clearly, he'd been running on the weirdly comfortable feeling of the dream and not thinking straight- He didn't want Victor to think he'd taken advantage of him, had used him. He just had to have an adult conversation about how while sex was great and all, he wasn't interested. He should be interested. He couldn't be interested because Victor was so much better and so much kinder than Yuuri had anticipated in his fanboy days, and being rejected now would be the real breaking point for him.

He just had to be logical and calm. That's all.

 

* * *

 

 

Their nightly walk with Makka is carried out in stilted silence and Yuuri hates it. He can feel the weight of Victor's gaze on him, can feel the uncertainty bubbling across the Cataclysm. No doubt due to Victor measuring how to let Yuuri down gently. Yuuri's been let down less than gently before this, and lived through it though, so rather than beating around the bush. He stops to watch Makka rooting at the base of a tree and steels himself.

“Victor. About, uh, last night -” He tries not to sound hesitant, but trips in the middle.

“Yes.” Victor's reply is instantaneous, and the Cataclysm trills with an anxious buzz.

“It… doesn’t have to happen again. I, uh, don't expect that… from you.” He's expecting there to be some relief telegraphed from Victor, the actual reaction is something he hasn't felt in their connection before and it's… sour?

“Oh.” Victor's face is an impassive mask, and Yuuri is trying to parse the feeling in the Cataclysm with an edge of panic to his process now.

“Just… Forget about it, okay?” He calls out to Makkachin, hailing her back so he can get to the apartment and hide from Victor's regard and the sinking feeling in their connection.

“Sure.”

It feels almost like disappointment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another big thank you to everyone who leaves comments and for all of the lovely kudos, y'all are giving me so much love and it's amazing!
> 
> I think I'll aim to have the next chapter up by Sunday, so keep an eye out!
> 
> Dasviddada guys!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Reckoning!!!
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, it's one of my personal favorites :')

It's hard, after that.

 

It's hard to look at Victor, it's hard to be in his presence, it's hard to lie in bed at night knowing just how badly he'd overstepped the boundaries of their relationship. It's hard to feel Victor's gaze sweep over him as they train and know that their coolness is all his doing. All of the chastising in the world doesn't change the facts though. Yuuri had pushed too far, butted into Victor's life and thrown it off course, had pushed his feelings onto Victor in a moment of gross stupidity. 

 

He regrets it, he regrets it so much.

 

Victor has been nothing but courteous since, and Yuuri has been trying so, so hard to keep his mind from wandering back to the feeling of Victor's lips on his own, of skin on skin. No matter how many times he beats the thoughts back they just keep cropping up. He has a thousand excuses lined up for every eventuality and he’s prepared to used them, and does frequently, when it’s late at night and his mind buzzes and the connection flares with heavy anticipation… 

 

He hates it. He hates Victor’s plastic smile and his vague pleasantries. He hates the way that for every time he catches the feeling of  _ something _ across the connection, he finds Victor averting his eyes and hiding himself more and more. He wishes he’d never been so selfish to take so much from Victor. He wishes he could turn back the clock and just stop himself. 

 

Days give way to weeks, Yuuri throws himself into training so hard that he can feel every inch of his body protesting back at him. Victor doesn’t comment, and Phichit has given up on even trying to talk to him. He’s in a foul mood more often than not, and even his dream are reflecting it. No more sweet lovers and cuddling, no more Victor in his dreams. Now he’s alone and floundering in the dark.

 

For all of the punishment he’s throwing at himself, he tries to keep it contained, he hides it from Victor as much as he can, as much as the Cataclysm allows. He knows it’s not working all the time, but he’s  _ trying. _ Sometimes he thinks Victor is going to say something, over dinner he’ll pause and look as if it’s on the tip of his tongue, only to fight it back and offer another forced smile.

 

In the end it’s not him who breaks the weird tension, nor Victor, but Danny who shatters the glass house reasoning that’s holding Yuuri together at this point.

 

“Yuuri! Danny needs us both do you have a second?” Victor pops his head around Yuuri’s doorway, his hair is still damp from his shower and falling into his eyes messily. Victor has his phone pressed to his ear and is awaiting permission to enter, which he does once Yuuri shrugs and beckons him into the room with a wave. When Victor switches to speaker and settles on Yuuri’s bed he only raises an eyebrow at the other man and receives a wink in return, which he resolutely ignores in favor of greeting their case worker.

 

“Hey Danny, what’s up?”

 

“Oh nothing too dire I promise!” Danny chuckles lightly, “We had some info that’s been quite interesting, about the empathy part of whatever is causing the Cataclysm-  I didn’t think it was worth dragging you to the office in the run up to competitions but I had a question for you guys.”

 

“Well, we’re all yours,” Victor supplies with a grin at his phone, Yuuri can sense a buzz of amusement from him that seems to flit on the tops of his shoulders, “What's the question?” 

 

“So there was a lot of talk about communication over the connections, about how spoken word and emotions don’t match. We had an entire three hour skype call on empathy last week - but there have been a few reports around the Cataclysm of people dream sharing.” Yuuri can feel a static buzz in his brain at the words _ dream sharing _ . “The reports say it’s dreams with both of the pairing in at once, usually something emotional attached to it. One pair resolved an entire argument in their sleep! Have you guys had anything like that?”

 

There’s a pulse of confusion across the connection, quickly covered by a sense of… dawning realisation? Yuuri barely notices it over the pulse of panic that hits him. 

 

“Uh…” Yuuri is staring at Victor. Victor who is blushing from his roots down to his chest and avoiding his eyes. Victor who the only dreams he’s had about the both of them had been about… About  _ sex _ . “Um, yes?”

 

“That’s a yes.” Victor is still blushing, but he’s watching Yuuri now with a calculating look that has Yuuri nervous in far too many ways. “From  _ both _ of us.”

 

He puts the emphasis on  _ both _ . 

 

Yuuri wants to combust with embarrassment. 

 

“Care to elaborate?” Danny’s voice makes him jump and Victor gives his phone a  disapproving look.

 

“Not really, Danny. We can discuss this later, yes?” Without waiting for an answer he hangs up, locking his phone and turns to Yuuri. Yuuri, for his part tries his best to not freak out. Dream Sharing?  _ Dream sharing _ . “That was… illuminating.”

 

Yuuri can’t answer, he can’t think straight. He’s caught in the trap of his spiralling thought processes as he realises that the last time they’d… dream shared, it had been  _ different _ . It had been soft and caring and the majority of the dream had been spent in one another's arms rather than buried in each others bodies. It had been affectionate rather than the heated pull that had chased them in the previous dreams.

 

They’d spent more time  _ kissing _ in that dream than anything else, and what it had led to… 

 

Shit. Double shit.

 

“Yuuri. We need to talk about this.” Victor tries, he’s being gentle but firm in his tone, not allowing Yuuri to turn away from his gaze and demanding eye contact. “We can’t keep ignoring it -” The panicked laugh that bubbles up and out of Yuuri’s mouth is entirely involuntary and a bit horrific in the way it cuts over Victor’s statement.

 

“No, Yuuri. I’m serious. This is just too much now.” His voice raises in a heat of irritation that burns at the back of his psyche like a flame. It’s not angry though, it’s… frustrated. “You drag me into the GPF banquet and sweep me off my feet, but panic at the thought of sharing a bed with me the same night as though you hadn’t been the instigator in our dance.” He’s watching Yuuri, waiting for a defense, maybe, or a sign of disagreement. Yuuri isn’t going to disagree though. He  _ did _ that. He nods to his knees and avoids Victor’s gaze. “You flirt openly with me in front of Phichit and Chris, in front of Celestino when we train, but back off the moment I return your regard. You practically had me on my knees in the middle of a club in Detroit with the sheer tension you hit me with, but wouldn’t kiss me until I dragged you into it. You… we - the last time  _ that _ happened to us we…” 

 

He takes a steadying breath, eyes closed and there's a tremor of emotion across the Cataclysm that's mirrored in his voice when he whispers, “Made love.” Another shaky breath, “Every time you pull me forward you take ten steps back and it’s driving me crazy Yuuri. What do I have to do for my feelings to reach you?” He runs a hand through his fringe distractedly and Yuuri can feel the strangest  _ something _ through their connection. “I can feel you everyday, here - in the back of my head, in my chest, in every part of me digging deeper and deeper until I can’t tell where one of us starts and the other ends unless I really, really try. Not because you’re overwhelming me Yuuri, but because we’re the  _ same _ . I feel the  _ same _ , Yuuri. I can feel the affection the…” He doesn’t say it. He doesn’t say the word they both  _ know  _ belongs there, Yuuri can’t blame him, he wouldn’t have the courage either.

 

Right now he doesn’t have the courage for  _ anything _ . Each statement is like a physical blow to his reasoning, to the carefully crafted glass house he’d built around himself. The panes are cracking under the strain of it.

 

“I can’t. I won’t keep on pushing myself onto you -” Victor shakes his head, he looks incredibly small for a moment, but the feelings he’s sending across their connection are anything but, it’s heavy and sad and all too like the gaping hole in his chest that had been easing away the longer they’d been together. Something is sinking in his chest, but it’s not  _ his _ chest. Victor is getting to his feet, reclaiming his phone from the bed and straightening his shirt where it’s ridden up.

 

Victor watches him, feeling every panicked emotion spiralling around Yuuri’s useless brain no doubt. They've been locked in this relationship for month without a way out, been sharing emotions and images and... And things Yuuri doesn't want to comprehend right now. Yet it isn't just him, it can't be, because the first time they'd shared a dream Yuuri had been alone to begin with. Victor had walked into his life and walked into his dreams and Yuuri had done nothing but been party to the thing. They hadn't asked for this, but they were incapable of avoiding the truth in their dreams.

 

Yuuri wants Victor, has wanted him as long as he's been able to comprehend the concept. In their dreams,  _ their _ dreams, Victor HD been an active participant, delighting in every aspect, giddy and happy.

 

There’s furl of panic in his chest, but the anger at himself is at the forefront, burning hot behind his eyes. He knows Victor can feel it, he pauses halfway to the door and turns back to Yuuri with a question on his tongue, but Yuuri gets there before him. “No I - Victor, I…” He takes a deep breath, mostly to buy himself time and beat back the urge to kick himself over every instance of his stupidity. “Victor. I’m so, so sorry. I’ve been so focused on denying everything, on playing everything off as inconsequential that I’ve completely messed this up. I -”

 

“Yuuri -”

 

“Let me finish?” It’s not a demand, he doesn’t cut him off out of need to deny, but the need to confirm. “You can’t have missed the fact that I’m a fan, right?” Yuuri watches Victor for any sign of a reply, but Victor’s gaze is curious - not confused. He can’t stop himself anymore, he can’t hold it back. It’s like the panes of his glass house are falling all around him, letting every secret fly out. “I’ve been so focused on you for so long that  _ this _ thing happening  _ to  _ us threw everything off. I wanted to meet you out on the ice as an equal - and I failed. I failed so hard that the moment you actually noticed me I panicked and ran. When the Cataclysm hit it was so much - it was too much for me to process, I just… Ran. You’re right I keep just running. I keep moving away because for me it’s easier to keep a distance than to admit that meeting you, that being close to you like this has been more than just a  _ thing _ that happened to us.”

 

He stands up, he moves into Victor’s space because over the last three months that’s all he’s been doing - he’s been pulled inexorably toward Victor, just as Victor has been pulled to him. 

 

“In the same way I ran from you that first time you spoke to me, I’ve been running ever since. I try to dismiss everything, not because I don’t believe in your feelings - but because I don’t feel worthy of them. I keep trying to be, I keep trying to push forward but I -”

 

“Yuuri…” He loops his fingers through Victors, not looking at his face for fear of what he might see, what he can  _ feel _ is already too much for him; a heavy pulse that's all too close to sympathy and tinged with something bitter that tingles in his chest just as Victor’s dark moods did. 

 

“That last dream… It was  _ different _ . From the others I mean.” He swallows, his throat tight and he can feel the way the Cataclysm pulls and recedes, how Victor braces himself at the words as though waiting for a blow. “If the dream sharing is  _ that _ , is us communicating what we can’t when we’re awake, maybe? Then…” 

 

“Then?” He’s careful, so careful. He’s been careful for weeks now and Yuuri wants to shake him from his collected calmness and bring the real Victor back.

 

“Then I want to try. I want  _ you, _ Victor. Not the Victor I adored as a kid, or the Victor in the magazines. I want Victor Nikiforov who never met a poodle he didn’t instantly fall in love with and who falls asleep on the couch because he’s too engrossed in whatever trashy romance novel he’s reading to notice how exhausted he is. But above all that, I want to be the Yuuri who deserves  _ that _ Victor. Not the idiot who runs away every five seconds and hides in his bedroom- not the one who’s too busy burying himself alive in self rebuke, but the Yuuri who goes shopping with you and squabbles over dish soap brands. The Yuuri in our dreams. Yuuri that you want, that you deserve…”

 

He hasn’t noticed his hands were shaking, nor that he was on the verge of tears - he hadn’t noticed because the more he’d opened up, the warmer and hotter the bubble of warmth he’d come to associate with Victor grew, the brighter the feelings pouring over their connection became. When he finally finds the courage to look Victor in the eye he’s blushing furiously, but Victor isn’t any better off, he has tears falling silently down his cheeks and his free hand pressed to his lips doing nothing to hide the smile blossoming behind them.

 

“Yuuri, I -” His voice is thick when he tries to speak through the tears that he’s not even bothering to wipe away. “Me too, Yuuri. When we met I was… not good. I couldn’t see much beyond the next event, the next season. I’d been like that for so long that everything else had fallen to the wayside and I woke up one day with nothing but myself and Makka to keep me going. You’ve been… a revelation to me. These last weeks have been so  _ hard _ , so… cold. Without you it’s been difficult to even function. I -” Victor’s voice is shaking and he takes a moment to breathe. “I don’t know when I got so hooked on you, Yuuri - how I became so dependent. But you were so gentle when I couldn’t be with myself. So passionate when I felt wrung dry and empty of anything to inspire. We’ve both made mistakes, yes, but you’ve given me so much Yuuri and I want - I want to give back. I want to be worthy of the love you’ve already given me…”

 

“Victor…” 

 

Once, when Yuuri and Victor had first moved into their little apartment, Yuuri had wondered over how intuitively they negotiated around each other, moving in tandem around a tiny kitchenette with no mumbled apologies or bumping into each other clumsily. This is just like that. The way Victor reveals his smile to Yuuri to grab his free hand and press a single kiss to the fingers in his grip, the way Yuuri smiles in return and loosens the hold to pull Victor to him in a way he hadn’t dare two months ago, and hadn’t had the courage for in the club bathroom. The only time he'd drawn Victor in, he had hurt them both- badly, but this time Yuuri would get it right. 

 

They are drawn together again and again as their lips connect, small testing touches that glance and burn at the corners of the Cataclysm connection with a fire that building and burning outwards and into each other. It’s intuitive and so, so easy to fall into the way Victor’s breath hitches when he reaches out even further, when he searches deeper into the kisses and feels the pooling heat in his gut that no doubt is being pushed across the Cataclysm in a traitorous burn. Yuuri is too deep under the feel of Victor’s fingers as they creep under his t-shirt to notice.

 

It doesn’t take long, Yuuri thinks, for the world to change around him. Whether it’s the split second that it takes for the Cataclysm to take hold and turn his life upside down, or the moment the scales tip with the weight of mutual regard. 

 

For once it’s Yuuri who’s changing it. 

 

He’s taking control of his life with the way he divests Victor of his shirt and the momentary hesitation before he loses his own, he’s letting the glass shatter and all of the things he’s tried to hide for the duration of their connection are flying apart from him as he pulls Victor down to the bed, rolling them and pinning him with his body as they kiss again and again. They’re a mess of lips and limbs as Victor pulls him down onto the bed, chests connecting and sparks flying. The kisses are growing longer, deepening and pulling every part of Yuuri’s attraction to the surface as Victor’s hands find purchase on his back, he’s framing Victor’s hips with his own, and his face with his hands. 

 

_ I love you _ .

 

It’s in the way Victor’s eyes are shining, in the smile as they come together. It’s the testing press of Victor’s fingers, the swipe of his thumb on Yuuri’s jaw as he captures his lips, slow and sure. It’s in the pulsing weight of the Cataclysm in their chests. Yuuri presses the words into the skin of Victor’s chest, into the crease of his hip, into the muscle of his thigh. He presses it into every inch of skin as it’s laid bare to him, into every touch as he guides Victor out of his clothes. 

 

There’s something in the touch of Victor’s lips to his temple and his arms as they pull Yuuri to him. In the soft smile and warm gaze as Yuuri is under him, in Victor’s fingers as they trail reverently over his chest and abdomen. The Cataclysm is impossibly bright, improbably warm when they’re both freed of their clothes and Yuuri leads Victor back to him. 

 

_ I love you. _

 

He can’t say it, but it’s there in the kisses they share, in the way Victor is blushing under Yuuri’s praise as he moves down his body and takes him in his mouth. Yuuri loves it, loves  _ him. _ Loves the weight and taste of him in his mouth, the way Victor’s abdomen skips under his free hand while the other works over his length. 

 

He loves the way Victor moans at the first contact, biting his lip as he watches Yuuri working him over. Victor is beautiful when he falls apart- he can’t seem to get words out, haltingly calling his name over and over. Yuuri doesn’t relent, he doesn’t pause, even though Victor is scrabbling for purchase and whining. His knees fall further open, he’s all Yuuri’s for the taking…

 

Victor is writhing, panting and shaking, hips bucking under Yuuri’s mouth and hands, his own finding their way to Yuuri’s hair and he can feel the warmth of the touch and the emotion behind it being turned over and redoubled by the Cataclysm. He’s pulled off Victor messily, the hands in his hair guiding him to Victor's lips and a fervent kiss. He can feel Victor’s smile against his lips and can parse the way it bubbles across their connection, a happy buzz in the corner of his psyche. He wants to chase it and engulf it with his own burning happiness, wrap Victor in the heavy tide of joy he’s being drowning under.

 

“Yuuri, please -” Their cocks are aligned and Victor is pushing up against him, into the feeling of desire that is pulsing and building over their connection. Their hands are roaming, kisses bleeding one into the next. The Cataclysm has them in its grasp as it pulls them under the tide of arousal, overcoming every other emotion and feeling as it catches them.

 

“What do you want Victor?” He pants this into Victor’s adam’s apple. “Tell me what you want from me…”

 

“Please, Yuuri I -” He’s still rutting, panting and the blush on his cheeks has spread to his chest. When Yuuri tries to pull away and look at him Victor hitches his legs up over Yuuri’s hips, keeping them pulled flush and the blush darkens. “You, please Yuuri. I need you.”

 

“You have me, Victor. I’m here.” But Victor doesn’t seem to hear him, he drops his legs and rolls them, straightening above Yuuri and looking down on him with a wild look in his eye that had Yuuri’s fragile rationality splintering under the weight of it.

 

“I want to feel you...” He rolls his hips where he’s settled over Yuuri’s dick in a sinful swing that drags the breath from his lungs. He’s taking in Yuuri beneath him as Yuuri had looked at him the last time they’d slept together. Yuuri half expects Victor to lick his lips, but instead he trails his fingers over Yuuri’s chest and continues. “I want to ride you, I want to pin you under me and fuck you so well you forget your name.”

 

“Victor -”

 

“I want you to fuck me, I want to fuck you. I want to taste every inch of you, I want to -” He leans in and Yuuri’s reaching for a kiss when Victor’s fingers catch his jaw and he’s held still as his teeth graze over Yuuri’s jawline, tracking a path to his earlobe and playing over the skin. “I want to lick you open and push my dick deep into you. I want you to fuck me like I’m the only person you could ever imagine on your cock.”

 

Yuuri breaks, then.

 

He’s moving before he knows it, rolling them again and reaching for his bedside table, almost upending the thing in his haste. Victor doesn’t comment on it, too busy driving Yuuri crazy with his teeth and wandering hands. When he returns with condom and lube in his shaky hands Victor gives him a crooked grin, laying back and displaying himself. Yuuri lets his eyes wander, taking in the miles of pale skin, Victor’s cock hard and thick against his abdomen and the way his nipples have pebbled in the chill of the room. 

 

“You’re… beautiful.” He doesn’t know what makes him say it, but it’s the truth. The sharp edge falls from Victor's smile and he softens at the words, reaching out to pull Yuuri to him. 

 

“You too, you’re stunning.” It’s whispered against his lips, as though it’s a secret only for them. That they’re equally enamoured, equally drawn in, equally wanting and needing each other.

 

Victor  _ is _ beautiful. He’s been Yuuri’s standard of beauty as long as he’s been able to comprehend the concept, but like this… opening up under Yuuri’s fingers, pushing into the twist of Yuuri’s wrist, seeking purchase on Yuuri’s shoulders as he kisses him again and again. His hair is stranded with sweat and he’s mouthing wordlessly between their lips meeting, praise and pleas dripping forth with each finger loosening him. Yuuri has never seen anything so beautiful.

 

Victor’s hands shake when he rolls the condom on Yuuri, a barrage of sensation on his skin and the Cataclysm is rolling around in his mind, overwhelmed with heat and want. It all comes to a head with Victor's arms around his neck and his ankles hooked around Yuuri's hips, funneling into a hammer's blow of want, need, lust- arousal pooling in his abdomen and flaring up when he presses into Victor. 

 

There's a flashing sense of  _ right _ in that moment, that this is exactly where they should be, that they belong together in mind and body- their connection is blooming back out from the pin point with the  _ rightness _ of it. It takes his breath away, even as he pushed deeper and Victor clings ever tighter. All the while the Cataclysm is deepening, widening around his consciousness and crystallising. He's fully seated in moments, Victor panting his approval against Yuuri's hairline. 

 

It feels… amazing. Victor is amazing. Yuuri's arms are shaking with the rising tide of sensation, of how the Cataclysm is pulling around them, but Victor takes a shuddering breath and leads him into a kiss. It's a tiny touch of lips to his own but it grounds him to the point that he can pull himself away from pure sensation and focus on Victor.  _ Come back to me…  _

 

_ I'm here…  _

 

The sweet, still  _ thing _ that is that moment is broken with the first shift of Yuuri's hips, Victor sighs his approval and moves into the motion, using his legs to bring Yuuri closer to him. They move together in a rhythm set by the touch of Victor's hand to his neck, by the heat of their kisses, by the way Victor catches his eye for a moment before he loses himself to sensation. 

 

The push and pull of their bodies fills the air around them with a heat that's boiling up between them, curling fingers of climax climbing up Yuuri's spine and leading him forward, a crackle of electricity whenever their lips touch and hands grip. Victor's cock is trapped in the space between their bodies, sparking friction against Yuuri's stomach and leaking precome messily. Victor is writhing against him, seeking more and more friction, more of Yuuri. He's gasping out pleas for more, he's begging Yuuri to give him everything. 

 

Yuuri gives it to him. 

 

He rears up, feet gripping on the sheets and hands pulling Victor up onto his lap, using the leverage of the position to fuck deeper into him and pulling a stream of encouragement from his lover as he pushes them towards climax. It’s electric and all-encompassing, flowing not only between the way their bodies have connected but through the Cataclysm bond as it crashes around them, surging with their unbridled passion and the affection that is singing between them as they climb higher.

 

Yuuri’s so lost, so overwhelmed by the weight of it - by the intensity - that he can barely think straight. He’s moving on pure instinct and the momentum they’ve built together, he’s spurred on through their connection and the sounds Victor is making. It doesn’t take long, only a few sharp thrusts and his fingers loose around his cock before Victor’s orgasm hits him across the bond in a blinding white heat that blurs his vision, bowing his spine and dragging his own climax right to the surface. His hips stutter, muscles contracting and tightening as the force of it hits him, the Cataclysm feeding it back and around as it had Victor’s own and plateauing the sensation. His breath is haggard, legs like jelly and his arms finally give out, but Victor catches him with shaking hands and wide eyes, pulling him into his embrace. 

 

The Cataclysm eases back, recedes into itself and leaves Yuuri shaking against his lover’s chest, struggling to catch his breath and pull himself back to the present. Victor helps, he’s kissing Yuuri’s temple and running his fingers the length of his spine.

 

“You okay?” Yuuri feels the press of lips and the way Victor's breath soothes across his temple at the words. He nods and pulls back to regard Victor. He’s flushed, still panting and he looks completely exhausted.

 

“You?”

 

“Yeah.” Victor smiles up at him as though he’s the one whose world has been turned upside-down and Yuuri  _ sees _ it. It’s not the smile he’s been looking for after their heart to heart, but it’s close. This one is infinitely brighter and far, far softer than that. It’s touching the connection between them and brightening with bubbling light. Yuuri doesn’t bother to resist the urge to smile back.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri can remember falling asleep in Victor's arms, he can remember what had occurred before he'd crashed out. He cannot, however, remember waking up. 

 

So it stands to reason he hadn't yet. Which would also explain why he's in the rink -

 

_ “Yuuri!” _ Victor calls to him excitedly from across the ice, gliding to a halt in a spray of crystals that catch the light slightly too brightly, and take an infinity to fall. 

 

“Victor -” He's stumbling over himself as he meets Victor, but that's only because the realisation that this  _ is _ Victor hits him all at once. 

 

This is a dream, but this is really Victor. 

 

Victor taking his hand and leading him out into the ice. Victor laughing and smiling with him. Victor catching him watching and blushing. 

 

Yuuri isn't sure he ever wants to wake up, but he knows he won't be disappointed when he does.

 

* * *

 

“Can I have these?” Victor leans over the back of the couch where Yuuri has taken up the entire thing and plonked his laptop onto the coffee table. Victor is swinging the last back of apple chips from his fingers millimeters from Yuuri’s glasses and grinning at him from above. Yuuri knows he’s being lured into one of Victor’s terribly inefficient traps, he knows but he doesn’t care because their connection is dancing with humour and Yuuri can practically taste the way the Cataclysm is pulling them together, not the way it had done in the past, but with gentle hands that guide them.

 

“Um- Nope. Those are  _ mine _ .” He pulls the offending item from Victor’s fingers ruthlessly.

 

“But  _ Yuuri. _ ” Victor whines at him. “I wanted a snack, I’m  _ hungry _ .” He pauses for a moment, seemingly mulling over his options before he snaps his fingers with a matching smile. “I know what I can eat-”

 

“ _ Victor- _ ” He doesn't get a chance to protest, he's being suddenly encompassed on all sides by nearly six feet of Russia's finest athlete and smothered with tiny pecks to his cheeks and the tip of his nose. 

 

“I’m so  _ hungry _ Yuuri -” Victor is giggling, the bond is pulsing warmly, and Yuuri is pretending to struggle but truly delighting in the fact that Victor wants to be this close to him. “You're so tasty Yuuri! Vkusno!”

 

Yuuri giggles. 

 

It's been a week. One glorious week of silly flirting and amazing sex and Yuuri is now completely and utterly ridiculous for the man who's sat astride him. He'd been enamoured before they'd met, and hypnotised in the first weeks, but now- now he was completely and totally gone. Victor is a huge, huge dork- a total sap, and he’s completely convinced that he'd looked up how to perform the perfect blow job on Google for how skilled he was at the task. 

 

Sometimes he wondered how much of his emotion Victor could feel across the Cataclysm, sometimes he worried he wasn't enough, but anytime his doubts started to rear their ugly heads Victor would navigate across the rink to give him a glancing touch to the cheek or just smile widely at him. Their dream sharing was becoming frequent, something that allowed them to talk for hours in the space of minutes without fear of embarrassment. 

 

Perhaps it's that level of comfort, borne of closeness like Yuuri has never felt with another person in his twenty-three years on this planet, perhaps it's just stupidity because Yuuri is an actual idiot. Whatever the case Yuuri’s reply to the sudden attack and suggestion that he's delicious is to respond: “You are the actual worst boyfriend.”   
  


Yuuri holds his breath at the realisation of what he's just  _ said.  _ He's bracing himself for the moment Victor pulls away, connection bleeding confusion and annoyance. Instead Victor laughs, then pauses, then laughs again with a simmering warmth that rises up through the bond like vapour, clinging to every inch of Yuuri it touches. 

 

“Boyfriend?” His eyes are sparkling, running over Yuuri’s blushing face playfully.

 

“I mean… Partner would be fine, too. But if you want to-” He’s fumbling over the words, sure but still uncertain of their relationship. Victor, for his part, captures his lips in a searing kiss, effectively cutting off Yuuri’s stammering attempts at conversation and melting him against the couch cushions. “Is that a yes?” He manages once Victor is done with his lips and nuzzles his jaw.

 

“It didn’t feel like a no to me.” The Cataclysm is buzzing happily, sparking in the back of his mind. “In fact, this  _ terrible boyfriend _ was about to ask if we could have a small vacation after Worlds.”

 

“A vacation?” 

 

“Well, not a vacation per se, but since we’re going to be in Japan anyway I thought you’d like to visit your family - You said you haven’t been home and I thought we could -”

 

Yuuri cuts him off with a press of lips, his heart pounding and soaring with the thought that Victor had considered this, had wanted to do something so kind for Yuuri. Victor smiles against his lips and they don’t emerge from the couch until Makka comes to investigate why her bowl is woefully empty of dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts and feelings can, as always, be directed at my inbox here or my Tumblr!
> 
> Only four more chapters to go guys, I'm super hyped to put them out into the world!
> 
> The amazing [sugarlipx](http://sugarlipx.tumblr.com/post/170653768458/victors-breath-is-coming-in-short-bursts-he-can) did some art of the dance scene from chapter seven which absolutely slayed me (and is now my lockscreen because i love it so so much, its my first ever fanart!!!)
> 
> I'll be updating in a week as usual, but if you have some time to kill between now and then you should all check out my new Fantasy AU because I'm totally psyched for it!! 
> 
> Thank you all so so much for your support and love, it means so much to me!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!!!

 

**World Championship of Figure Skating Senior Mens Singles Results 2015**

  1. Victor Nikiforov (RUS)
  2. Christophe Giacometti (CHE)
  3. Otabek Altin (KAZ)
  4. Jean-Jaques Leroy (CAN)
  5. Michele Crispino (ITA)
  6. Cao Bin (CHN)
  7. Yuuri Katsuki (JPN)
  8. Seung-Gil Lee (KOR)
  9. Emil Nekola (CZE)
  10. Leo De La Iglesia (USA)



  
  


**World Championship of Figure Skating Return with a Flourish**

 

The return of the World Championship of Figure Skating has been big news in the last few weeks, with Juniors kicking off the return. Yuri Plisetsky, 15, took a second Gold medal to match his Grand Prix Gold…

 

… In the senior division, there were several notable performances, with Victor Nikiforov finishing in First Place with Christophe Giacometti and Otabek Altin following him to the podium in the silver and bronze positions. There was some hope that the Japanese representative, Yuuri Katsuki, could redeem his performance at the Grand Prix after an excellent Short program that had him in third place. However, it is suggested that nerves affected his performance causing him to narrowly miss the podium.

 

In Women’s Sara Crispino set a new record for PCS in her Free…

  


* * *

 

Hasetsu has changed.

 

Yuuri isn’t particularly surprised, it’s been five years after all, but there’s still something jarring about finding so many small differences. No matter how many tiny things are unfamiliar, Yuuri feels himself relax for the first time in a week when he and Victor draw up in front of Yu-Topia Katsuki. They’re greeted by his parents, his mother placing a soft hand on his cheek, craning to look up at him and Yuuri’s heart hurts for the fact it hadn’t been that difficult for her to reach him the last time he’d been home. It seems such an incongruous thing, his height, but it strikes him that maybe it isn't just Hausetsu that has changed, he has too.

 

The years spent in Detroit, the separation from his family, the Cataclysm - all have changed him, just as his home seems so different to him now, and yet…

 

He’s _home_.

 

It seems too good to be true, but his father is grinning at him and asking him about his graduation while his mother moves over to fuss at Victor in broken english that has him bursting with pride. Mari joins them then, poking him hard in the side and shooting Victor a raised eyebrow when he approaches to introduce himself.

 

“I thought you’d been living together for five months, surely he’s aware he needs no introduction.” She doesn’t lower her voice, nor does she switch to Japanese. Nope, Yuuri’s big sister just grins at his blush, and elbows him in the ribs with a grin. “Well done at Worlds lil bro-”

 

_Worlds._

 

Yuuri’s mood sours, he keeps his smile in place with effort. He doesn’t want to think about it, he doesn’t want congratulations on coming in a spot lower than he had at the GPF. His Short Program had been surprisingly good, placing him third in the rankings while Phichit hadn’t qualified for the Free. His best friend had been so happy for Yuuri, crowning his comeback on Instagram and telling him to go for the podium for the both of them. It was well meant, he knew, but the pressure and the effort of keeping his spiraling anxiety from Victor had made his Free a nightmare - he’d even lost PCS because he was so much of a mess. He hadn’t wanted the bright smiles his competitors had offered him at the banquet last night, but he’d walled himself up and smiled through it for Victor. Victor who had taken his fifth consecutive gold medal. Victor who belonged on the ice in a way Yuuri could never truly rival -

 

“Yuuri? Are you okay, you look tired.” Victor has peeled away from his mother, no easy task, and lays a hand on Yuuri’s arm.

 

Yuuri _is_ tired, there have been press conferences and banquets and fellow competitors surrounding the pair of them for a week. They’ve been unable to find time to just relax, and now he’s finally back in Hausetsu for the first time in five years all he wants to do is fall into his bed, or the nearest hot spring and never emerge. He wants to drag Victor in with him and never let him out, pour himself into the Cataclysm and stay in the sensation forever.

 

But first…

 

* * *

 

 

They’re shown to the banquet room, which his mother has outfitted to be a second bedroom for himself and Victor, leaving Yuuri blushing and Victor blinking between them in confusion. He leaves Victor to unpacking and heads to the Butsudan, another discordant note in a familiar song, the recently framed picture of Vicchan making his chest seize.

 

Yuuri bows deeply, he reaches out and grasps the incense, fumbling lighting the stick. He settles it into the Ash bowl, smoke curling into the air as his hands shake in his lap.

 

He should have come home, once. He should have been here for Vicchan. He should have realised how selfish his own actions were, abandoning his family and his home for flights of fancy that were so, so beyond him. Proven now, by his rankings at Worlds.

 

He can’t be this selfish anymore.

 

Somehow he’s been granted the gift of Victor by his side, of Victor in his heart. Now that he’s finally free of degrees and distractions, it’s time for him to be as selfless as possible and give Victor something back, as best he can. They can go back to Russia, back where the Cataclysm threw them together and Victor can go back to his coach and rink-mates and he can let Victor go back to his life.

 

His heart hurts at just how insular he’s been, keeping Victor to himself. It’s a pang in his chest that radiates guilt and shame. He’s been so focused on himself, on how he’s dealing with the Cataclysm, that he’s kept Victor from his fans, his family -

 

Yuuri can’t turn back time, he can’t beg the fates to reverse the Cataclysm and put their lives back to where they should be, but he can stop being so selfish, stop holding Victor back…

 

“Hey lil bro-” Mari’s voice breaks through the silence surrounding him like so much of the calming scent of incense.

 

“Mari?”

 

“Yeah, your boyfriend couldn’t find you. I think he’s worried about you - Are you aware that he’s annoying as hell if he wants something? He’s been badgering me for five minutes.” She’s thankfully speaking Japanese, but Victor doesn’t seem to care as he navigates around her. Victor makes a beeline for him, Yuuri meeting him in the centre of the room and finding his face caught in Victors hands gently.

 

“Yuuri are you okay? I felt… something.” He’s scanning Yuuri’s face, a worried frown marring his features.

 

“I’m fine, Victor.” And he is, he’s made his decision, now he just has to stick to it.

 

“Come on, Mom’s made dinner and she wants to grill your boyfriend here.” Mari grins at him wickedly, and he can’t help the laugh that bubbles up. Of course his family are dying to get their hands on Victor, he’s been everything Yuuri’s aimed for since he was twelve. Even if his parents weren’t huge fans of figure skating, they knew every banal detail Yuuri had picked up about him since his teens.

 

“On our way.” He’d told his parents about the Cataclysm, and about the change in his and Victor’s relationship, but it’s the first time they’ve ever met a partner of his and he can’t help the thrill of nerves. The way his stomach turns earns him a look from Victor, they’re so attuned to each other through the Cataclysm now he’s sure he’d felt the guilt roiling earlier and come to find him.

 

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Victor traces his cheekbone with the pad of his thumb and Yuuri feels the Cataclysm spark at the contact. It makes him shiver in a very different way as he nods and twines their fingers.

 

“Yes. I’m fine, I promise.” They both feel it, he can tell from the quirk of Victor’s lips and the way his gaze weighs on Yuuri’s face, but they don’t have time for that. Bringing Victor’s fingers to his lips is as intuitive as the way they move together now, pressing his lips and smiling up to his partner. “Come on, my Mother is waiting to grill you.”

 

* * *

 

Dinner goes well, objectively. Yuuri’s father doesn’t quite know what to make of Victor finishing Yuuri’s sentences, or the way they can anticipate each others needs without even a look, passing plates and chopsticks between them wordlessly. Yuuri catches the look of confusion his father sends him and shrugs, it’s just a part of whatever their Cataclysm has made of them that doesn’t bear much scrutiny these days, they’ve grown so used to it. His mother pulls Victor into conversation about their performances at Worlds which Yuuri has to bury his notice of, throwing himself into a discussion about the Onsen with Mari and his father.

 

By the time they escape his family he can feel Victor’s tiredness bleeding across the connection, and begs off glasses of sake, explaining they need rest and maybe tomorrow. Yuuri leads Victor through the inn and into the family rooms, feeling just how badly Victor needs some rest and recuperation right now, but the moment they’re in the room he barely has a chance to turn around before Victor is on him, Yuuri captures him easily. It’s an automatic response now, his arms coming up and embracing Victor pulling them flush. The Cataclysm hums approval between them and Yuuri can’t tell which of them is happier that they’re finally alone. “I missed this.”

 

“It’s been less than a day.” Victor doesn’t pull away to answer, the words are huffed against the crook of his neck, but Yuuri can feel the affection and warmth across the Cataclysm. “How can it have been less than a day, it feels like a week.”

 

And it does, the tiny distance they’ve maintained all day feels too far, even with their fingers entwined and their thighs pressed together under the table at dinner. Victor pulls away minutely, only enough for them to catch each other's gaze.

 

There’s a beat of silence.

 

A second of Victor watching him, Yuuri feeling the sudden tide of _need_ that pulses over the Cataclysm and finally, finally lets himself give in. He lets the sensation guide him, finding Victor’s hips and trailing his fingers over the jut of bones, before he can contemplate just how essential this contact is becoming to his psyche. He wants it, wants Victor so badly. Wants to feel Victor's fingers trailing his cheek and a palm on his spine, needs the closeness of contact and the thrilled buzz that pulses across their connection.

 

The yearning is mirrored back at him, almost identical, almost indecipherable from his own if not for the pulling that accompanies it. It’s almost as though the Cataclysm wants them this close, this entwined. Yuuri can’t really find it in himself to care, not when Victor moves into his space and wrap his arms around Yuuri’s middle, pulling them together and burying his face in the crook of Yuuri’s neck.

 

One day feels like a century without Victor holding him.

 

Victor peppers Yuuri's shoulder with kisses, nosing his sweater aside and trailing tiny nips and presses of lips. Yuuri leans into it, pressing them closer even as he frees Victor's shirt from his pants and lets his fingers trail the skin of his back. The Cataclysm prickles between them, communicating something private and heady and theirs, the want of each other, the roiling desire that has Victor pulling at Yuuri’s shirt and leading him from it.

 

It's a matter of moments before they're skin to skin, clothes littering the tatami mats. Every inch of their skin connecting is buzzing, every kiss stealing their breath from their lips. When Victor's fingers find their way around their erections Yuuri’s muscles jump and his breath stutters. “Bed, please Victor -”

 

“Yes, yes.” Victor is pressing the words into his shoulder again, punctuating each word with a kiss. Yuuri pries them apart, catching Victor's hand and leading him back towards the bed with hands and lips still trailing the expanse of his chest, Victor follows him easily.

 

It's so easy, this contact, this want of each other.

 

It's easy when Yuuri’s calves hit the mattress and he slips down to the comforter, pulling Victor after him. It's easy when Victor kneels between his thighs for Yuuri to lean back, watching Victor watching him for a moment before he captures Yuuri in his lips and hands, pulling a bitten off moan from Yuuri’s throat. Yuuri knows this, knows the way Victor likes to play with him, to toy with him when he's climbing the steep slope of his climax, his lips a tight seal around Yuuri’s dick as he works over him.

 

Victor likes to watch, to see the way Yuuri falls apart with each stroke of his fingers and tongue, those piercing eyes fixed on his face as Yuuri is pushed higher and higher, elbows buckling under the sensation. Victor's free hand disappears, his shoulder rising and falling in the same rhythm he's set on Yuuri and Yuuri can't look anymore, can't watch his inevitable fall first-hand and his eyes fall shut, his spine is contorting, his abdomen tensing. He can feel the rush of orgasm radiating out from the point where Victor is working his fingers and mouth pulling Yuuri up and up.

 

The crash of his climax is a deafening whiteout to his every sense, his eyes are shut tight, fingers clenched numbly, the sound of Victor's moans are muted around his dick and his own are incoherent over the heat and roil of the Cataclysm. It surges like the tides, pulling back and coursing over them in waves. It's so much, it's so huge and overwhelming that it takes them minutes to recover, struck dumb by sensation. Yuuri is boneless while Victor cleans them up with a washcloth pulled from the en suite, carefully cleaning away the traces of their passion with slow strokes. It’s grounding and gentle in a way that Yuuri has never had before.

 

When Victor crawls back to him, pulling him up the mattress and into his arms, Yuuri goes with only the barest of noises escaping him. Speaking is beyond him right now, the day has been so much and so real and Victor’s ministrations have left him empty of all but the barest of his reasoning. He lets himself fall into Victor’s embrace, bedding down into the comforter and Victor’s arms and falling into unconsciousness. The whisper of, _“Sleep, моя любовь.”,_ falling on deaf ears.

 

* * *

 

Their dream that night is of kisses that never end, of making love bathed in the soft light of the salt-lamps in their room, of words unspoken.

 

* * *

 

When Yuuri wakes it's to the feeling of Victor's hand running the length of his spine, trailing warmth that tingles and spreads over his skin. Victor is beautiful in the morning, Yuuri knows. He’s woken up like this every day for a month and every time it catches him off-guard just how stunning Victor is when he’s less than put together, hair mussed and soft eyed as he watches Yuuri wake.

 

“Good morning, beautiful.” Victor’s smile is gently, his fingers brushing the curve of Yuuri’s neck and catching his jaw. It feels wrong, Victor calling him the beautiful one when Yuuri can see just how stunning his partner is in the early morning light, his eyes soft as he looks down at Yuuri. No-one has ever looked at Yuuri the way Victor is looking at him right now. He isn’t sure how he got this lucky, to have someone so kind and beautiful in his life. He places a palm on the back of Victor’s neck, there’s a warm pulse across their connection at the contact.

 

“Good morning.” Yuuri knows that Victor can feel everything across the Cataclysm; that the way his heart is swelling is probably like an assault for the way it surges in his own chest, but he doesn’t care. His sense of self-preservation has gone to hell since he and Victor were thrown into each others paths. Victor’s thumb sweeps over Yuuri’s cheek, the touch light enough to barely count, but Yuuri’s face warms at it.

 

There’s something _different_ about them this morning, something in the weight of Victor’s gaze that has Yuuri’s heart thumping heavily against his ribs. The Cataclysm bond is swelling with an unnamed sensation that is threatening to pull him down, the room feels as though it’s been frozen in time - a moment between moments that’s so fragile Yuuri doesn’t want to move for fear of shattering it. He knows Victor feels it too, he can feel it in the gossamer threads of their connection, trilling with something indefinable and new.

 

Victor’s throat works for a second, as though he’s going to address whatever the feeling is, but he doesn’t. Instead he leans down and captures Yuuri’s lips in a kiss that Yuuri can feel to the depths of his soul. It’s soft in the way they meet both in body and heart, yet raw with the feelings spilling willfully across the Cataclysm between them. It’s as though the floodgates have opened and there’s nothing being held back anymore.

 

When Yuuri meets the kiss with a passion all of his own, Victor stifles a moan against his lips, leaning further over him to deepen the kiss. The leg Victor has hooked over his shifts, pulling Yuuri closer still and pressing him into the mattress. Yuuri lets his fingers run over the planes of Victor’s chest, catching on his left nipple and circling as their tongues meet. Victor huffs a breath through his nose at that, pulling back to stare down at Yuuri.

 

Yuuri loves this moment, the seconds of hesitation and eye contact before Victor will pull them together, or Yuuri will roll Victor beneath him and worship every inch of Victor’s body with hands and lips. The heat of Victor’s gaze has his blushing today, the way Victor licks his lips and looks over Yuuri’s bare chest makes his heart thump again. He feels beautiful, beautiful in a way that only Victor see’s, that only Victor is allowed to see. Yuuri isn’t surprised by the trill of anticipation that he feels across the connection, he revels in it, sinking into the feeling and not caring that his body is responding so quickly to the weight of Victor’s gaze.

“Yuuri…” Victor’s fingers find the edge of his boxers, inching under the waist but no further. Yuuri nods his permission, he can feel the pooling in his abdomen as Victor eases the fabric over his legs. Victor leans back and runs his hands over the curve of Yuuri’s calves, one at a time. He feels cherished, loved, and beautiful as Victor kisses his way up Yuuri’s right thigh, his lips catch on the V of Yuuri’s hips. He feels the loss when Victor pulls away minutely.

 

“I want to make love to you…” Victor pillows his head on Yuuri’s thigh, his fingers are dancing up the side of Yuuri’s ribs, eyes fixed on his face.

 

“Please…” Yuuri threads his fingers through Victor's hair, letting the strands fall as he moves away and returns with the lube and condom quickly.

 

When Victor rejoins him, Yuuri gathers him into his arms, pulling their bodies close and kissing him slowly. It feels slow, today. It feels different. Yuuri feels weightless in Victor's hands, feels detached from the world when he hears the cap being popped open. The gentle press of slickened fingers has his legs falling further open, widening his stance as Victor breaches him with the first finger.

 

Yuuri loves this part of Victor, the part that is so gentle and so loving. Victor leans over him peppering kisses over his chest as he works Yuuri open, a second finger sliding in beside the first and pausing as his body relaxes incrementally around the intrusion. Every discomfort is eased with kisses and soft words whispered over his skin, and all the while the Cataclysm connection is thrumming heavily, bleeding the intoxicating desire Victor is pouring into him.

 

They’ve been so buried in each other for the last month, so caught in the feeling of being pulled together that Victor knows every twist of fingers, every touch of lips that will break Yuuri apart at the seams. It’s the work of minutes to have him shaking against the sheets, Victor's fingers massaging over his prostate and Yuuri gasping his approval into the skin of Victors neck, his face buried and hands gripping Victors waist. Yuuri manages to regain enough of his equilibrium to peel Victor off him, searching the fold of the blankets for the condom and rolling it over Victor with a little maneuvering. There’s a moment where Victor is watching him, watching the way Yuuri falls back to the sheets again and lays himself out, it sparks with a wrenching feeling of adoration that has shifting his hips and pulling Victor down to him.

 

Victor kisses him again, its deep and searching, one hand guiding him into Yuuri. It’s like a prayer in itself, that kiss, it’s passionate and loving and Yuuri throws himself into it. The feel of Victor sliding home and filling him breaks it though, the sensation of being so connected making him gasp. It’s like nothing he’d ever had before. He’s bombarded from all sides, the Cataclysm connection is thrumming, his skin sparking at where they touch, the feel of Victor’s fingers on his face and the heat of his gaze pinning him.

 

They’re frozen together, buried in each other in every way for a moment. Yuuri can feel the way Victor’s breath stutters, he can feel the press of him as he eases out and back in slowly, the stretch and the pleasure as Victor circles his hips. There’s a vague thought that maybe they’re just _too_ good at this, when Victor rears up and pulls Yuuri’s hips to his lap. Their connection allows them to see so much, feel so much of the other that they could lose themselves for days in pleasure and sweat-slicked skin. He doesn’t fixate on it though, he can’t, because Victor is working over Yuuri’s cock with one hand, the other splayed on his thigh and keeping him in place as he rolls his hips.

 

“Victor -” He feels so far away, so removed that Yuuri reaches out for him, planting his feet and pulling himself up into the strong arm Victor loops around his waist. He can feel Victor’s climax and his own, building as they move together, their chests pressed flush and their kisses desperate. He loves it, loves the way Victor’s fingers work him right to the edge, the way Victor feels as he fucks into Yuuri. He loves every part of this impossibly brilliant man.

 

Their climax is like a wave, gathering momentum as they move together, their bodies so attuned to each other that they’re wordless, trusting the swell of the Cataclysm and the shift of their hips. Yuuri wraps himself around Victor, feeling boneless as he falls head first into his orgasm, riding out the tide as it crests and falls over him. Victor follows him seconds later, gripping him around the waist and pressing his face into Yuuri’s chest, his huffed breaths warming the air between them.

 

The words are on the tip of his tongue, _‘I love you.’_ , They bubble through the Cataclysm and across the bond but don’t spill from his lips. Victor leans into him, he tips face up and kisses Yuuri, sliding free of his body but keeping him close. They’re so close Yuuri can feel the beat of Victor’s pulse in the crook of his neck where he buries his face. He loves the feel of it; Victor close, and warm, and his.

 

His fingers may tighten at the thought that maybe, just maybe, they could keep this.

 

* * *

 

They spend the afternoon wandering the streets of Hausetsu, fingers linked and swinging between them. Yuuri shows Victor all of his old haunts, walking him the familiar path to Hausetsu Castle and watching Victor light up at the concept of there being a banja facade hidden there. They take a selfie which Victor immediately posts to Instagram, smiling at his phone as he adds tags. They wander a little, Yuuri’s tour guide skills reduced to anecdotes from his childhood and stories of Mari and he helping their parents run errands. Every story has Victor lighting up, the Cataclysm brimming warmly with a molten feeling of happiness that doesn't seem to dissipate.

 

When Victor complains that he's hungry, Yuuri drags him to Nagahama Ramen, earning him a kiss to the cheek and a small from Nagahama-san as he takes their order. It's been so long since he's been home, he hadn't realised just how recognisable he's become. It's not until he's walking the streets of the shopping district with Victor, hands linked again, that it hits him that they're being stared at, but Victor isn't the sole focus if the regard. He overhears a group of schoolboys whisper his name as they pass, and sees more than one cell phone pointed at them.

 

Yuuri ignores it all as best he can, focusing in the way the skin if his palm is warm with the Cataclysm contact right until Victor finds souvenirs he ‘ _just has to have, Yuuri’_ and they're ladened with bags filled with trinkets. Yuuri watches Victor enthusing over every little thing picking up a pack if Kyushu region KitKats and asking Yuuri what flavour they are. Yuuri earns another peck to his cheek for translating the thing that has his blush rising.

 

Everything about it is perfect; the look on Victor's face when Yuuri suggests they visit the rink in the morning, the way he feels his chest could split open from the swelling happiness being poured through the Cataclysm, the way Victor rearranges the bags so they can hold hands on the way back to the onsen.

 

Yuuri is so, so lucky to have this moment. This day.

 

The Inn is quiet when they return, his parents are probably in the kitchens preparing for the influx of customers once evening rolls around, Mari is most likely seeing to the rooms, cleaning up after departed guests. They head towards the family quarters after shedding their outdoor wear, donning slippers on their way.

 

“What do you want to do tonight?” Yuuri's run out of ways to entertain his partner, and Victor has thrown himself onto the bed after depositing his bags on the floor messily.

 

“Actually, I think I was promised the best Hot Spring in all Japan at the Grand Prix Banquet and have yet to see that promise delivered upon.” Victor is teasing, their connection lights up with the tickling sensation that plays at the back of Yuuri’s neck. Yuuri drops his own bags and lays in the bed beside Victor, propping himself on an elbow and grinning down at him.

 

“Well I don't remember making that particular boast, but we can definitely see if they rank in your top ten at least?” It pulls a laugh for Victor and earns him another kiss.

 

“I think it'll probably rank, seeing as I've never been to an onsen before… But I shall retain judgement until I've had the full Yu-Topia Katsuki experience.” Yuuri shoves at Victor playfully at that, and they spend a few minutes having a play fight that is more pinning each other to the mattress and giggling than actual fighting. Yuuri’s breathless and warm with the delighted happiness he's feeling, it hasn't dulled all day, when he manages to pull Victor off him and stands up with a hand out to drag Victor to his feet.

 

“How about dinner and then we can visit the baths? It's quietest in the springs at night.”

 

“Are you trying to keep me all to yourself, Yuuri?” Victor gives him a speculative look, quirking a brow and biting a lip as his eyes roam over Yuuri’s body.

 

“Hmm… Maybe a little.” And he is, he can't help it. Victor is here in his home and here by his side and Yuuri wants to keep him to himself. It's the same selfish want that had dragged Victor to Detroit in December, that Yuuri had decided to put aside only yesterday. Right now he has Victor all to himself, and he's going to monopolise on it.

 

Just for tonight, just one night and then he'll put himself aside and follow Victor's lead.

 

Dinner is a quiet affair, his parents are entertaining guests, so Yuuri fixes himself and Victor a small meal and they eat in the family dining room. Mari joins them and listens to Victor’s rundown of their day, she’s smiling at Victor’s description of their shopping trip. Seeing his big sister laughing at Victor’s enthusiastic retelling of their day has warmth blossoming in his chest. If he’d ever imagined Victor in Hausetsu during his flights of fancy as a teenaged fanboy, he’d never considered the concept of it beyond himself and Victor.

 

Yet here they are, Yuuri and Victor, in his childhood home. Victor and Mari laugh together easily, with Mari shifting her legs and resitting as they talk. It’s a gesture that has Yuuri wanting to hug her because It’s so _Mari_ , the little shuffle of limbs that she hides in the depths of her uniform, but Yuuri hadn’t known he’d missed until right this second.

 

“So, I need to know, what was Yuuri like when he was small. He never tells me anything and I’m dying to find out-” There’s a playful uptick to Victor’s lips, a tiny look shot across the expense of the chabudai that has Yuuri wanting to protest his innocence, that he’s getting better at it, when Mari cuts in.

 

“Oh, never mind when he was small - He was boring when he was small, Vicchan! I’ll tell you about his terrible attempts at being a rebellious teenager instead!” She’s teasing him, they’re bit teasing him and he wants to take back all the fond thoughts of ten seconds ago.

 

“No.”

 

“But Yuuuuri!” Victor whines, but the tiny grin is still in place and Yuuri has to restrain the urge to return it.

 

“Don’t be a -”

 

“If you say Baby, I’m going to -”

 

“You’re going to what?” Mari raises her eyebrows disdainfully, but she’s smirking around her disinterest.

 

“ _War_.”

 

“You think you can run a war with this guy hanging off you? Then be my guest, you big _Baaaaby_.” She even sticks her tongue out like a kid. Yuuri has to bite back a laugh at the silliness, he feels giggly and silly, and determined to win this particular round. Victor is watching the exchange as though he’s unsure whether he’s going to step in any second to separate them.

 

“Have it your way Mari nee-san.” He shrugs and stands, grabbing his bowl and beckoning Victor to him with a tilt of his head. He keeps his head high as he leaves, keeping up the appearance of disinterest that Mari has perfected and he’s copied their entire lives.

 

“Yuuuri?” Victor follows him to the family kitchen, clutching his own bowl in his hands and looking incredibly confused. “What was _that_?”

 

“Sibling stuff, don’t worry about it.” He drop his bowl into the sink and washing it quickly, taking Victor’s from him and doing the same before it occurs to him that he should probably warn Victor… “Actually, you should probably worry about it, Mari might try to recruit you to her team and win. Don’t listen to her, she’s just cheating and she’s totally useless at prank wars anyway.”

 

“Prank wars?” Victor looks torn between amusement and excitement now.

 

“Yes, and I’m going to _win_.”

 

“I can’t believe you’d ever think I’d choose Mari over you.”

 

“I’m just saying, she’s ruthless and she’s going to want to poach you, so don’t trust her.” Victor nods long seriously to Yuuri’s words, but the Cataclysm between them is buzzing with mirth and there’s a twinkle in Victor’s eye that is playful and warm all at once. “Anyway, never mind her. I thought you wanted to visit the hot springs.”

 

Victor laughs a little at that, sending a thrill up Yuuri’s spine that has nothing to do with the Cataclysm and a lot to do with the crooked grin he earns.

 

* * *

 

The baths are empty when they enter, the cool spring air capturing the steaming springs in tendrils that curl and hang over the water, opaque and heavy in the twilight. Yuuri hears Victor stop in his tracks, a small gasp falling from his lips.

 

“Yuuri, this is _beautiful._ ” Victor's words are punctuated by his arms looping around Yuuri’s waist, his chin hooking on Yuuri shoulder. He hum and agreement, sliding his fingers down to Victor's writs before gently freeing himself.

 

“It is, but it's even better when you're actually in there. Come on!” Yuuri guides Victor after him, seating himself on the stone shelf and pulling Victor to his side. Victor groans in pleasure as the water covers him, shuffling himself ever closer to Yuuri until their thighs and hips are touching and he tangles their fingers, almost as though any space between them is Too Much space. His head tips back onto the rocks, eyes closed tight and he sighs in contentment. Yuuri gives his hand a tiny squeeze, “So, you like it then?”

 

Victor nods against his shoulder, nuzzling into his neck and disregarding most of the etiquette Yuuri had filled him in on earlier, but he can't find it in him to care, not when they're alone and the connection between them has been suffused with a happy bubbling feeling all day. It’s the kind of feeling Yuuri wants to gather into himself and hold on to.

 

The Cataclysm has changed a lot, he thinks. It had been so raw in their first days when they holed up in Sochi and stuck to each other like glue. They’d had to negotiate around everything between them so carefully. Seeing Victor like this - in his hometown, getting to know his family, curled around him and over him in bed - Yuuri realises just how closed off Victor had been in the beginning. Not that Yuuri had been any different, he’d been so beholden to Victor’s fame and talent he’d tried to hide himself under layers of indifference and the abject fear of being too much of a fanboy for Victor to get past. Yet here they were, the Cataclysm between them an almost tangible thread that keeps them from drifting apart, sat together happy and warm in his families Onsen. They’ve come a long way from the insecurity and fear of their first days together, even from the turn of the new year and half-conversations whispered in the dark of his bedroom, revealing everything and nothing in the metaphors.

 

“What’re you thinking about? I can feel you, you know.” Victor sounds lazy and happy, the words are dulled by their place against Yuuri’s shoulder.

 

“Everything, nothing.” He shrugs lightly, Victor pulls away with a raised brow and a question on his lips that Yuuri forestalls. “The Cataclysm, Us.”

 

“Oh? Care to share?”

 

“It’s nothing, just…” The Cataclysm pulses with that feeling of warmth and happiness that fills his chest and pours the words from him. “I’m happy. Right now, with us, and how things are.”

 

The rush of emotion across the Cataclysm becomes a veritable barrage, assaulting him with bright bursts of happiness and … something else that Yuuri desperately want to name but is still too daunted by the enormity to do so. The barrage of sensation is in juxtaposition to Victor’s reaction. He straightens up from his slouch, turning to Yuuri with a small smile and soft eyes.

 

“Do you remember Sochi, the first day, when we were walking back to the hotel?” Victor picks their linked fingers from the water, capturing their tangled hands with his free one and tracing Yuuri’s knuckles lightly.

 

“It’s not something I’m likely to forget, Victor.” He teases, wondering just where Victor is going with his line of thinking.

 

“That day, when we were walking, you said there was nothing magical about you.” Victor gives tiny huffed laugh that’s followed by a sweet kiss to Yuuri’s fingers. “You said that to me and I didn’t believe it, I didn’t believe it because I could feel something so enormous pulling us together and I wanted to chase it and keep it. Before the Cataclysm hit I… I saw you in that hallway and you looked so alone and so small, I wanted to help you in any way that I could, but I didn’t know how. When this happened, it felt like a chance, like an adventure about to start -”

 

“Victor -” There’s a sting at his eyes that has nothing to do with the steam rising from the springs, the Cataclysm feels heavy with that unnamed _thing_ , filling the space between them and pulling them under and over as they fall into it.

 

“Yuuri… You can tell me I’m a fool for it, but I wanted that adventure, I wanted something new and different. Something more than skating and Yakov’s silences at my performances, and an apartment built for two but only holding me and Makka.” Victor frowns at the memory, “It was selfish of me, really, to throw myself into your life.”

 

“No.”

 

“No?”

 

“It was everything I wanted but didn’t dare hope for.” It’s close. So close to that _thing_ . Yuuri can barely get the words out through the emotions bubbling up and over the bond, Victor exhales shakily and catches his eye, forcing the contact and Yuuri can’t look away because _this_ is Victor. _His_ Victor.  

 

“You said there was nothing magical about you…” The smile he gives Yuuri is bright, but there are entire essays written in his eyes, words and emotions that can’t be thrown out like so much noise. “But you found me even when I didn’t know I was lost. You gave me back something I thought I’d lost forever. You…”

 

“I…”

 

“You love me.” Victor looks stricken at the words, for a second. It sends Yuuri’s pulse into an erratic beating, they’ve never said it, they’ve never done this and Victor is gripping his fingers so so tight. The Cataclysm is pulling and pulling at them as he blinks at the statement. “You loved me and I could feel it. I didn’t know what it was at first, but there was something in you that was calling to me, pulling me to you.” His voice is wobbling, emotion making it difficult to communicate. Yuuri can almost relate, he’s been struck dumb by this. “It is possibly the most selfish thing I’ve done in my life, I think, but I don’t regret it. You accepted me and helped me when I couldn’t see past the negative thoughts in my head, you freed me. Those nights when I couldn’t sleep and I was alone, you gave me something I was missing in myself. It’s funny, how you don’t really see yourself Yuuri, you don’t see the solidity of you. I’ve felt for so long like I’m a shadow of a person, and you come along and grab me by the hands and make me feel as solid as you are, as _real_.”

 

“Victor, I -” Yuuri’s hands are shaking, but it doesn’t matter because Victor’s fingers are trembling too. The Cataclysm is roaring in their ears.

 

“Not magical, maybe not. But in the fairy-tale of our lives you’re the Prince Charming who woke me up with kind words and smiles when I couldn’t muster them for myself.” It’s so silly it pulls a laugh from the both of them. It should spoil the mood, it would for any normal couple, but they frame things in conversations about couches and fairy-tales, they dance around things until they’re unavoidable.

 

 _This_ was unavoidable, really.

 

“Do I get to say it too?”

 

“That you love me, or that I love you?” So casual, so easy it slips off the tongue, but the connection is still roaring about them and enveloping them in a warmth that rivals the springs water.

 

“Either. Both?” He’s laughing, he’s laughing moments after Victor has declared their love because it’s just _so_ Victor, to take it all on himself. Yuuri can’t stop smiling, can’t stop even though his cheeks are going to start aching and he’s still on the verge of tears. “Either way it’s true anyway.”

 

“True. How about you kiss me instead?” Victor smiles shyly.

 

By the time they leave the springs, having entirely thrown out all etiquette rules, they’ve worked themselves into frenzy that has Victor rinsing off under a cold shower or risk scarring any lingering patrons for life. Yuuri might be a bit of an asshole, because he plasters himself to Victor’s side as they exit the baths and whispers _I love you_ into the curve of Victor’s shoulder, watching the way Victor’s eyes widen and he shivers at the puff of breath on his skin, then he waltzes off towards their bedroom without a backward look and with a barely suppressed laugh at the storming of Victor’s footfalls as he tries to catch up.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One year and one day since I started this fic, here we have the finished product!
> 
> This is the final chapter, with only an epilogue to follow. :')) I hope you all enjoyed!

 

Yuuko has a near heart failure when she sees Yuuri the next morning, training bag strapped to his back and flushed because Victor insisted they run to the rink, but it’s mostly because of the masochist who follows him in that it happens, so Yuuri blames it entirely on Victor. Victor blames Yuuri for not forewarning her. Takeshi blames the pair of them and gives them a faux-stern look, before it drops and he pulls Yuuri into a rough hug and congratulates him on his Worlds performance.

 

“What do you want to do today?” Yuuri’s not really sure why they’re on the ice, if he’s honest. Victor had insisted they get some time in the rink, but hadn’t given a reason beyond wanting to see the place Yuuri had trained as a child.

 

“Actually, I have something to show you.” Victor finished lacing himself into his skates and grins.

 

“If it’s Eros again, I already got the message, Victor.” 

 

“Oh hush, you always spoil my romantic overtones.” Victor grouses, but his eyes are shining as they make their way onto the ice. “It’s not Eros, this is the second movement: Agape.”

 

“Agape?”

 

“Yes, Agape. Unconditional love.” Victor’s voice is soft, his hands are soft as he captures one of Yuuri’s, his lips are soft when he kisses Yuuri and his smile is soft as he releases Yuuri and heads to the centre of the rink.

 

The routine, bare as it is of jumps and with only the most rudimentary blocking, is beautiful. Its flowing elegance and obvious purity is so different from the heavy sexuality in Eros. If Eros is desire and want, Agape is heartfelt and selfless. Agape is the heavy happy weight that was so precariously balanced between them, unnamed and unaddressed until last night. Eros is a hungry devolution of what Agape portrays, a love that is uplifting and pure in contrast to the debauched beauty of its counterpart. Yuuri know it inherently, intimately even, because aren't these two sides of one song the same two sides of himself and Victor? 

 

They're trapped together in the Cataclysm, thrown together by some wild turn of the wheel of chance, but they fit. They fit and they work, just as desire and love can be so intertwined as to be indistinguishable. Yuuri’s selfish desire to have Victor, to take hold and never let go had always felt too big, too greedy, but is it truly a selfish act if Victor himself needs to be wanted, needs to be held? Watching Victor on the ice, Yuuri can’t help but feel that they’re meeting in the middle once again. Victor had confessed, had suggested that his want of Yuuri had been a selfish thing, had been greedy in its own right. Yet Yuuri had been holding himself apart from Victor for exactly the same reasons. 

 

Eros and Agape. Victor and Yuuri. Some things are so entangled they’re impossible to separate.

 

Victor’s rudimentary program is coming to a close, his arms raising in a clasp as though holding something fragile, and beautiful, and precious. Yuuri can feel it across the Cataclysm, it resonates like the deep booming of a gong. Victor is barely out of breath, but he holds position for a moment, a perfect sculpture of devotion on the ice. The moment breaks when Victor unclasps his hands, turning to Yuuri and smiling that soft smile. 

 

“So, what do you think?”

 

Yuuri can’t put it into words. Instead he skates to where Victor is grinning at him and kisses the smile right from his lips.

 

* * *

 

 

Getting back to the onsen takes longer than expected, mostly due to the fact that if Victor isn't stopping Yuuri mid-sentence to kiss him, then Yuuri is doing the same. It's silly, and they keep laughing between kisses and Victor's explanation of the terrible fantasy novel he's been reading this week. It doesn't take long for Victor's critical review to fail under Yuuri’s lips though, by the time they're in sight of the onsen Yuuri is pulling Victor after him and grinning at the frustrated noise he makes when they have to stop to switch out their shoes for house slippers. 

 

“ _ Hurry up. _ ” Victor's whine is punctuated by his hands creeping up the back of Yuuri’s shirt, running over bare skin and leaving lightening in their wake. 

 

“I  _ am _ hurrying, Victor.” He's laughing, but the Cataclysm is thrumming with desire that has him directing them to their bedroom, taking the stairs at a run. 

 

Victor's hands resume their occupation as soon as the door slides, creeping back under his shirt and over the planes of his chest as Yuuri pulls them flush and kisses him. The Cataclysm dances with their bubbling happiness, surrounding them with warmth and cascading sparks at their touch. It’s a matter of seconds before Yuuri’s shirt is tangled around his torso, bunched up under his arms and frustrating Victor. Yuuri is too busy grabbing handfuls of Victor’s ass, having hiked his pants down and bared enough skin to be worthy of exploration.

 

“Lift up.” Victor frees himself of the kiss to try and ease Yuuri from his shirt.

 

“No, You step out.” He guides the waistband of victor’s pants over his thighs, taking the opportunity to pull Victor back in for another kiss and let his free hand grasp the half hard weight of Victor’s cock between them and running his fingers over the length, coaxing it into fullness.

 

“Not fair.” Victor groans, sounding petulant.

 

“Says the guy who’s getting a handjob.” Yuuri rolls his eyes at Victor’s pout, relishing in the amused light playing in Victor’s eyes. “But if you insist…” He makes to drop his hand, but Victor whines and grips his wrist. “Oh, so you don’t want me to stop touching you then?”

 

“ _ Yuuuri! _ ” Victor buries his face in his hands, peeking through his fingers with an accusing look. Victor’s whines are punctuated by the gasps that Yuuri knows all too well how to pull from him now, his fingers running over the length in his hand, the other slipping lower and trailing between his cheeks. “You’re torturing me, I can’t believe I fell in love with such a - ah!  _ Yuuuri _ \- such a cruel man.” 

 

“Cruel? But I thought you  _ liked _ this…” Yuuri’s lips are right on the shell of Victor’s ear, the contact sending a shiver through Victor and landing on just the right side of playful that has Victor groaning, half in frustration and half in arousal at the twist of Yuuri’s fingers over his cock.

 

“I do. I do, but I want…” 

 

“What do you want, Vitya.” The tiny stress he puts on Victor’s diminutive sends another shudder through him, Yuuri can feel the spike of desire that thrums through their connection and it itches under his skin. 

 

“I want to touch you too,  _ Yuuri… _ ”

 

The Cataclysm turns on its axis, going from playful to heavy and wanting in seconds. It’s another intuitive meeting of wants and needs that has them stripping each other in earnest, kissing all the while. They tumble onto the bed Victor’s weight caught before Yuuri is crushed beneath him by elbows and knees. It pulls a laugh from Yuuri that’s silenced by Victors lips, and stopped dead at the touch of Victor’s cock against his. Victor kisses him hard, breath catching at the contact and the Cataclysm is burning up with the feel of skin on skin, the dragging weight of Victor as Yuuri pulls them together and hooks his ankles around Victor’s waist.

 

“Yuuri -  _ Yuuri _ …” Yuuri loves the sound of his name on Victors lips, loves the way Victor’s breath hitches when he pushes back into the rocking of their hips, loves the feeling of Victor in his arms as he works them into a frenzy of sweat-slicked skin and panting breaths. Victor drops kisses to his collarbones, catches the tip of his right nipple with his tongue and gasps against it as Yuuri pulls them both into the circle of one fist, their precome easing the movements as Yuuri lets his fingers roam. They’re gasping into each others mouths, thrusting against each other as the Cataclysm roils with their building climax. Yuuri loses his grip around Victor’s hips, the pleasure building weakening him against Victor, building until it’s all Yuuri can do but be pulled along under the tide of their orgasm. Victor’s lips move against his, words falling from them in cascades. “I love you, I love you. Yuuri -”

 

“Vitya -” Victor is shaking, his arms trembling and his lips pressed to the corner of Yuuri’s mouth as he gasps, his climax hitting in a wave that pulls Yuuri loose from himself for a moment hitting the plateau as his orgasm rolls through him and into Victor. The rebound is heady, the way it tumbles them together physically and mentally, tieing them close in the sweat-damp sheets as Victor collapses against him with a moan.

 

“Hey, you okay?” Yuuri’s voice scratches at his throat on its way out, hoarse and rough against Victor’s shoulder.

 

“Hnnng.” Victor rumbles the groan into Yuuri’s neck and burrows into the warmth.

 

“Words, Vitya. You can use them.” He pulls away, trying to catch Victor’s eye and failing. It’s amazing just how clingy Victor gets after sex; Yuuri loves it, loves the feeling of Victor needing this closeness even once the Cataclysm has pulled back and it’s just them.

 

“Alright? I’m not sure.” “Victor cracks open an eye and watches him from the corner. “I think my brain is mush and my legs have stopped working.”

 

“Oh. Okay, good. My work here is done then!”  _ That _ gets a reaction, Victor gasps and pulls away, finally freeing Yuuri’s neck from his burrowing.

 

“Cruel. I swear you’re the cruellest man I’ve ever met.” Victor’s faux outrage bubbles across the Cataclysm, light and happy.

 

“Maybe, but that’s why you love me.” He wouldn’t ever have said that a year ago, to anyone. He couldn’t have said it two months ago to  _ Victor _ , but the way the happy bubbling feeling turns into a lava-melt outpouring of warmth across the connection the moment he says them assures him to the point of giddiness. Victor softens, he falls back onto Yuuri and burrows in again.

 

“I do. I do, I love you, Yuuri.”

 

“I know,” He’d be stupid not to, he’d be delusional to try to deny it, and the happy flow of warmth turns into a waterfall when he adds, “I love you too, Victor.”

 

Victor catches his lips in a kiss, it’s soft and brimming with love to the point that Yuuri gasps at the emotions blooming through their connection. They stay like that, kissing, passing adoration from lips to lips and from heart to heart until Victor pulls away with a grimace at the combined mess between them and free’s Yuuri to go fetch a cloth and water. The clean up is another passing of affection, Victor’s love brimming over the cusp of the connection when Yuuri kisses each patch of clean skin. Finally clean and still pressing kisses into eachother'ss skin, they huddle under the covers together, wrapped around each other as closely as the bond that had pulled them together in the beginning. It’s warm, and safe, and Yuuri feels the words building up between them as he breaks the silence, looking up at Victor from where he’s draped over his chest.

 

“Victor, I was thinking.” 

 

“Thinking?”

 

“About us - about the future, I guess?”

 

“Okay…”

 

“Well, we didn’t really talk about it in Detroit, we had so much going on with the Cataclysm and my degree, and then with Worlds, but I was thinking that we don’t really have a reason to  _ stay _ in Detroit anymore. So, I thought we could go to St. Petersburg.”

 

“You want to go to St. Petersburg?”

 

“Well, not really? But it’s where your home rink is and I was thinking that since my degree is over we don’t have to go back to Detroit.”

 

“Okay, but that’s dismissing the fact that  _ your _ home rink and coach are in Detroit.”

 

“Well, I thought after spending so long focused on my needs it’s time to focus on you.”

 

“There’s something else isn’t there? Something more. And you’re offsetting it by talking about me, what is it?”

 

“Well, I… wasn’t planning on skating next season -”

 

“Yuuri!”

 

“No, listen, please?” He takes a steadying breath, ignoring the pang of hurt across the Cataclysm and ploughs on with his explanation. “The Grand Prix was awful for me and I was so ready to give up on it then, but when Worlds was brought back I… saw it as a chance of redemption, as a way to prove I could. So when I dropped in the ranking I… I just don’t want to disappoint anyone anymore, myself, my family and fans, or _ you _ .” 

 

“Okay.” Victor is frowning at him lightly, a wrinkle of concern marring his features. “I can see your logic there, but can I offer a counter argument?”

 

“Uh -”

 

“Because you’re not the only one who’s been thinking about our future, Yuuri.” Victor is earnest, his eyes wide, the Cataclysm unusually docile between them. “I don’t mind going back to Russia if that’s what you want, or back to Detroit, either way, I’ll be happy as long as we’re together. But Yuuri, you didn’t disappoint anyone at Worlds.” Yuuri tries to protest but Victor frowns again and gives him a  _ look _ , silencing him quickly and effectively. “No, Yuuri. You didn’t let anyone down at Worlds, nor at the Grand Prix. You tried your hardest in both and the improvement you showed was phenomenal considering you stopped training entirely between to focus on your studies. Did any of your competitors do the same? Did Phichit, or Chris, or me?”

 

“No…”

 

“No we didn’t and Phichit placed lower than you did. None of our competitors had to break themselves back into shape, none of them had to deal with working around Cataclysm restraints - I don’t count, Yuuri, you’ve never been a hindrance to my skating - and even with all of these things working against you at Worlds you managed to outscore yourself by twenty points! And you call that a failure?”

 

“But I dropped to seventh place and -”

 

“Yes, you dropped in the ranking, but the people you competed against had no constraints and three and a half months of solid training time to work out every miniscule kink in their programs!” Victor sounds exasperated at Yuuri’s bull-headedness, pausing for emphasis at his frankly excellent point. “Yuuri, I have no intention of letting you retire now. Not at all. If you can pull twenty points out of thin air on minimal training time and with all of the ridiculousness that has followed us around, then I want to see what you’re capable of achieving when you’re not under pressure studying, when you have a dedicated coach rather than one who’s starry-eyed over your best friend and doesn’t fit you personally. Yuuri, we can go back to Detroit, or to St. Petersburg - wherever you want to be I’ll be with you, but I’m not skating this season, I’m coaching.”

 

“What?”

 

“I’m coaching. You, to be precise. I want to see what we can make together, I want to see you succeed and I want us to make something beautiful.” Victor picks up his hand, pressing a kiss to the knuckle and watching him over the top of it.

 

“Victor, I could never ask that of you.”

 

“You didn’t ask it of me Yuuri, I’m asking it of you. Please?” 

 

“I…” It's so much, it’s too much to process in one go. Victor not skating? Victor wanting to coach him? “Can we… think about it?”

 

“Yes. Yes, that’s a good idea. That way we can be sure nothing rushed into and that we’re coming to the decision together, yes?” Victor’s gaze is fond, brimming with affection, and Yuuri swallows down the tears that threaten to spill over at just how amazing the man he loves really is.

 

“Yeah.”

 

* * *

 

Yuuri has a thing about bad luck. 

 

Well, not a thing, per se, more a habit of it following him and enacting its whims upon him at inopportune moments. Which is why, of course, Yuuri’s bad luck catches up to him when he and Victor are at an impasse of opinion, and it comes in the form of a furious Russian teen who seems to be very very annoyed with the pair of them arriving in his family home with minutes notice. 

 

_ Plitsetsky: _

Where the hell are you, idiot????

 

_ Yuuri: _

I’m at home? 

 

_ Plisetsky: _

Where’s home

 

_ Yuuri: _

My family’s onsen. Yuri what’s going on????

 

_ Plisetsky: _

I’m on my way

 

_ Yuuri: _

On your way??? Here??? Wat do you mean you’re on your waay????

 

The answer presents itself ten minutes later when a sweaty-faced Yuri Plisetsky stomps into Yuu-topia Katsuki dragging his bag in his wake.

 

“I found you!” Yuri Plisetski crows triumphantly, sticking his finger in Yuuri’s face with a manic grin.

 

“Uh, Yuri what’re you doing here?” Yuuri wants to run from the sheer weight of Yuri’s glare, Victor is in the kitchen making tea, it had been his immediate reaction to reading the texts that had suddenly bombarded Yuuri after breakfast.

 

“I’m here for Victor.” Yuri crosses his arms tightly over his chest, his foot tapping the floor just as it had so long ago in Sochi as he’d waited for Victor and Yuuri to catch up to him. It’s so aggressively defensive that Yuuri is torn between wanting to sooth the kid or giggle.

 

“For Victor? But you only saw each other last week.” 

 

“Yes, but he was too busy cooing over you and skating I couldn’t speak to him at Worlds.” Yuri’s scowl deepens. “Well, where is he?”

 

Yuuri is spared answering by Victor rounding the corner with a bright smile. “Yuri! Hi! I didn’t expect you!” 

 

“If you’d been expecting me you’d have told me to stay put with Lillia and Yakov. I’m not stupid Victor!” 

 

“Speaking of Yakov and Lillia…” Victor’s raised eyebrow is question enough, it seems because Yuri’s face shifts and he looks weirdly triumphant.

 

“I ditched them at the train station in Tokyo, they were refusing to let me come.”

 

“With good reason, probably.” Yuuri mutters, mostly to himself. “So are we going to stand in the entryway all day or would you like tea?”

 

It takes a few minutes to get them settled, Yuri huffing his disapproval at having to stow his bags behind the reception desk, and at having to switch out his shoes for house slippers. Yuuri takes the initiative to pour them each a cup of tea while Victor and Yuri seem to be locked in some battle of eye contact, Victor loses only because he breaks to thank Yuuri for his cup with a tiny kiss to his cheek. 

 

“So…” Victor captures Yuri’s attention again with a wave.

 

“So I’m here for my program.” Yuri is staring hard at Victor, his fingers tight around his cup.

 

“Your program?” Victor looks baffled, shooting a look between Yuuri and Yuri before taking a delicate sip of tea. “What program?”

 

Yuuri is glad he’d had the foresight to settle them in the family quarters, Yuri explodes with a mix of swear words and rapid-fire Russian that would have emptied the guest areas in seconds. There’s no place for Yuuri in this discussion, language barrier firmly in place and insurmountable, so he focuses on the Cataclysm and the way it fills with a mixture of concern and surprise. He can feel something almost… protective coming from Victor, as he manages to bring Yuri’s volume back to normal, even if the conversation is still speeding along. Victor seems unsettled by Yuri, the Cataclysm warring between frustration and that want to protect in quick succession, but they seem to settle something as they break from Russian and bring Yuuri back into the conversation to ask about calling Yuuko for rink time in the next few days. Yuuri is glad of the excuse to break away from the pair of them, slipping into Japanese as he calls the rink and breathing out the weird tension between his companions between words. 

 

Yuuko is happy to have them, she squeals a little when Yuuri mentions Yuri accompanying them and Yuuri has to hold the phone away from himself to protect his eardrums and Victor giggles a little and whispers. “Well, at least this time you forewarned her!” Yuuri rolls his eyes and returns to his conversation, where Yuuko has finally gotten over the concept of three world-class figure skaters wanting her rink and is blocking out a few hours for them this evening. 

 

Mari pops her head into the family room with a frown, “Yuuri what's all the racket? Even Okaasan heard it downstairs!”

 

“We have a guest.” Yuuri shrugs, finally free from his phone and less than willing to fill Mari in on the particulars since he knows none. Victor helpfully pitches in, bright and bubbly aura in stark contrast to the disturbed feeling channeling through the Cataclysm. 

 

“Yuri here has apparently ditched his escorts while en route to the airport, found our posts on Instagram and tracked our location to Hausetsu, then managed to bully the location of the last remaining Onsen in town.” Victor shoots Yuri a frown and turns to Yuuri, their connection still unsettled. “Apparently I owe him a Senior Debut program and he intends to collect it.”

 

“Okay, first.” Mari holds up a finger and steps into the room looking forbidding enough that even Yuri straightens. “Whatever you guys are arguing about sounds tediously boring, but we're a working onsen with guests so no more yelling. Second, we already have a Yuuri and it'll just be too confusing to have another so now that one is going to be Yurio.” Mari, who had managed to shame them with her first point quite thoroughly manages to turn the mood on the head of a pin with that statement. Victor barks a laugh and Yuri splutters with outrage. “Third, if you're inviting more friends over Yuuri you have to give them somewhere to sleep so you should go and sort out your old room because I'm not doing it for you, I have enough to do.”

 

And with that she swans out of the room, leaving the three of them in mixed states of hilarity, rage, and on Yuuri’s part, foreboding. Setting Yuri up in his old bedroom means going  _ into _ his old bedroom, which means allowing people - mainly Victor - to  _ see _ his old bedroom and the multiple posters of  _ Victor _ on the walls. The less than ideal situation is made even less idea by the fact that Victor gets to his feet and dusts himself off with a jaunty, “Well there's no time like the present!” and waves Yuri to his feet. Yuuri wants to protest, wants to stop them in their tracks because this is  _ War _ and he’s going to lose this battle because his sister is an evil genius, but he’s pulled up by Victor and dragged off upstairs before he can even protest. By the time he’s finally found his voice enough to suggest that he can do this alone they’re closing in on his old bedroom door, doom incarnate in flimsy wood panels.

 

“No, no we’ll get Yurio settled far faster if we work together!” Victor chirps, Yuri yells furiously at the nickname, barging past them to get to the door and shouldering it far more heavily than necessary. So hard, in fact, that he has to correct himself from the stumble that throws him into Yuuri’s former bedroom, catching himself on the desk and swearing under his breath. 

 

“This place is gross. When was the last time anyone was in here?” Yuri sounds disgruntled as he wipes his fingers on the leg of his jeans, displacing the dust he’d accumulated from the desktop. Yuuri would answer, but he’s too busy taking in the bare walls to listen to Victor doing it in his stead, throwing in a few more Yurio’s for good measure. The walls are bare. Bare.  _ Bare? _ There’s a tiny moment of panic where Yuuri, ever the fanboy at heart, worries just what on earth has happened to his precious collection, but that's quickly eclipsed by the thrill of relief that his execution has been stayed for the moment and no one needs to know about just  _ how _ obsessional he’d been as a teen. 

 

The relief, however, is short-lived. Apparently, his execution was not called off, only relocated. Which Yuuri finds out to his utter horror when Victor goes to grab spare sheets from the cupboard in their room and a thrill of shock punctures their connection along with a gasp. “Yuuri!”

 

And then Yuuri  _ knows _ . He knows because when he walks back into the hallway Victor is stalled in their doorway and Mari is stood at the top of the stairs looking her giggles rolling into gales of laughter as Victor wanders back out into the hallway looking shell-shocked.

 

“It… Yuuri?”

 

“It’s war Victor. There have to be casualties, don’t there Yuuri?” Mari’s voice is dripping poisoned sweetness, her eyes sparkling with mirth. Yuuri is seconds away from chasing her down the stairs and tackling her as they had as kids when Yurio stomps out of his former and very bare bedroom to find them.

 

“What the hell is going - Oh my god Victor I can’t believe you, this is disgusting. I can’t believe you’d plaster your own room with your face that’s just… so so gross.”

 

“What? No - I didn’t it was -” Victor shoots a pleading look to Yuuri, but he’s too focused on Mari’s stuck out tongue and leer to pay much attention. This is  _ War _ after all.

 

“Disgusting -” Yurio’s voice drips with undisguised revolution.

 

“Mari-neesan I’m going to -”  

 

“Going to what, Yuuri?” She seems torn between wanting to gloat and hysterical laughter, which eventually wins out when Yuuri tries to make a dive for her.

 

The resulting scuffle is just that, a scuffle. Yuuri leaps past Victor to get at Mari, who’s cackling gleefully at Yuuri’s wrath, unfortunately, Victor is backing away from Yurio and managed to get tangled with Yuuri in his leap, who then grabs onto the nearest steady object for balance. The nearest object, is, unfortunately, Yurio’s leopard print hoodie, which is neither steady nor solid and is pulled down along with its wearer to the floor. 

 

Upon finding himself in as the filling in a very heavy and very Russian sandwich, Yuuri mourns his luck running out for a moment, it's a crystalised second of realisation that this is possibly the most ridiculous situation he’s ever found himself in - short of the Cataclysm which had brought them to this point. That is until Mari’s ridiculous laughter is cut short by the arrival of his parents, who look mildly concerned but mostly annoyed by the disruption.

 

Now,  _ now  _ his luck has run out.

 

* * *

 

 

The four of them earn the kind of dressing down that Yuuri hasn’t experienced since his early teens and his and Mari’s playfighting had finally become too much for their long-suffering parents, it’s punctuated by Victor’s heartfelt apologies and Yurio looking meekly up at them, which seems to melt some of their annoyance. Yuuri can’t blame them, Yurio looks like a sad kitten all bundled up in his hoodie and his hair awry, the kid is noisy and brash, but he means well… All-in-all its a far more subdued group who end up at the rink that afternoon, Yurio following them quietly as they enter and Yuuko and the triplets fawn over him.

 

Victor catches Yuuri’s hand before they enter the main rink, pulling him to one side.

 

“About the programs, I know we haven’t decided anything yet and you’re still unsure about next season… but I was thinking of giving Yurio Agape. I mean, Agape is us, but so is Eros? And Yurio is so… uncertain about so many things that focusing on the unconditional aspects of love would be good for him - I think.” Yuuri can feel that same nervousness that had trickled through their connection over tea pricking at him again. “Eros is yours if you’ll accept it. I’d love to see you perform it for me -”

 

He wants to ask just what on earth the kids deal is, why Victor is so unsettled by the kid and why Yurio is so barbed. He wants to ask all of the vague questions that had swum through his Cataclysm addled brain back in a dim hotel room in Sochi, but he’s cut off by Yurio shuffling over and huffing out. “Are we doing this or what?”

 

“Of course! Just give me a few minutes to warm up and I'll…” Victor turns in the direction of the rink doors, not finishing his sentence before he's through them and into the chill air of the rink. Yurio hunches on a bench, tense and watchful as Victor works methodically through each muscle group one after the other. Yuuri's seen him do this a hundred times, watched from the corner of his eye at first then graduation to playful and voyeuristic attention in the weeks before Worlds. Now he's watching from the cold slats of the bench beside Yurio most likely radiating concern over Victor's unsettled presence over their connection, he's not trying to shield it at all, so he's unsurprised when Victor flashes him a reassuring smile when he straightens and calls out to Yuuri to line up the music, tossing his phone easily.There are fifteen missed calls from Yakov Feltsman. Yuuri ignores the notifications and pulls up the music player quickly. 

 

“Ready?” Yuuri calls once Victor has taken to the centre of the ice, his dark work out clothes a stark contrast to the gleaming white of the ice surrounding him. Victor gives him a curt nod from his starting pose. He's more tense than he had been the day before, it shows in the hard line of his shoulders and the angle of his fingers, but the moment the music starts he’s fluidity and grace. 

 

Yurio perks up the second the music starts, pulling Yuuri’s attention to him as he frowns deeply in concentration. It's amazing how focused he is, the way he zeros in on Victor and Yuuri can see his lips moving as he reads the program instinctively. It takes a minute or so for his gaze to lose focus, for the shift in posture and then he snaps back to awareness eyes darting from Victor to the phone in Yuuri's hand, to Yuuri himself. Yurio looks lost, scared and altogether discomfited as he watches the end of the program with wide eyes. The moment Victor hits his finishing pose Yurio rounds on Yuuri. “He did that on purpose didn't he?”

 

“Yurio, I -”

 

“He did it on purpose.” Yurio isn't addressing him anymore though, he's thoughtful again, tension bleeding from his posture and leaving him looking small and vulnerable again. 

 

“What do you think?” Victor has made his way over, oblivious to the interaction and watching Yurio carefully. 

“Yeah, I got it.” He shrugs, but there's something different in the way he spears Victor with a look, less… combative. “So what about the idiot, did you make him something pretty to skate too?”

 

“Actually, I hadn't decided if I was going to skate.” Yuuri isn't sure why his face is heating at the words, but Yurio spears him with an unreadable look. 

 

“We're still deciding our plans for the season.” Victor adds, giving Yuuri a warm look. Yurio frowns between them, not offering an opinion, but Yuuri can feel Victor's presence through the Cataclysm, sure and immovable in his resolve. “There's no rush to decide.”

 

Yuuri considers suggesting they run through Agape again so that Yurio can memorise it thoroughly, but Victor’s cell starts vibrating on the boards loudly with Yakov’s face illuminating the screen.

 

* * *

 

 

“Hey, moron.” Yurio is leaning against the doorframe, watching Yuuri as he takes down the final posters of Mari’s attempt at War. After the rink, Victor had been preoccupied, waving the pair of them off and heading for a shower after dinner. Yuuri had headed to their bedroom and been caught off-guard by the posters again, resigning himself to having to de-Victor their room until the man himself returned. Whatever had been said between Victor and Yakov was being kept to Victor for the time being, and Yurio had slunk off to his bedroom without a word after dinner. Until now, of course. Now he's framed in the doorway looking nervous. It's something Yuuri’s never seen from the kid, so he smiles at the interruption and stows his last poster carefully. 

 

“Hey Yurio, what's up?”

 

“I have to go soon, don't I?” He’s not looking at Yuuri, speaking to the doorframe where he’s picking at the wood.

 

“Victor didn't say anything, but I think so, yeah.” The atmosphere between them is heavy, something waiting to be laid out and Yuuri can feel it. It’s not the same as the Cataclysm, it’s the premonition that comes with empathy that signposts something big and unknown. Yuuri steels himself and takes a step towards Yurio, like approaching a spooked animal who’s skittish and liable to bolt. “Are… You okay?”

 

“Yeah, I just… Victor's okay, yeah?” Yurio is playing nonchalance like its a second skin, shrugging out the question. “And like, the Cataclysm thing - it's not bad, for you both I mean…”

 

“Yuri…” Another step, Yurio straightens and squares his jaw defiantly.

 

“What's Victor told you. About me.”

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Tell me the truth, idiot.” 

 

“That is the truth, Yuri. Back in Sochi I asked but Victor said it wasn't his story to tell. He's not as stupid as people make him out to be, you know.” Yuuri shrugs easily. He’s wanted to know, but known that pushing either Victor or Yuuri would only solidify their positions, but now… 

 

“Oh. Okay.”

 

“If you did want to talk…”

 

“Yeah, I got it.” He's brusque again, straightening and walling himself off from Yuuri as he turns to leave. He hesitates in the doorway, shooting Yuuri a guarded look. “It… Doesn't hurt though, right?”

 

“Not really? Sometimes it’s weird, sometimes it's nice. But mostly it’s just a thing that happened to us, and we’re living with it.” Yuuri shrugs again. “It might disappear tomorrow or be here forever, but for now we’re just dealing, I guess. And...”

 

“And?” 

 

“We’re happy. I mean - we weren’t at first, and it’s been a long road to get here, but Victor is happy and so am I.” 

 

“Gross.” Yurio says it with feeling, his face screwing up in distaste. “You’re going to skate though, right? It’d be idiotic not to.”

 

“I -” Yuuri still isn’t sure, he hasn’t had the time to think it over, but Yurio takes his hesitation as an opportunity to switch the conversation back to its usual roots.

 

“You can’t take a twenty point leap and not go for it, I’ll kick your ass on or off the ice, but it’s more fun to do it with your boyfriends' program.” Yurio’s eyes light up at the thought, a grin pulling his features into a challenging look. “There’s no space for two Yuri’s in the same bracket, and I’m going to prove it by beating you at the Grand Prix next year.”

 

There’s a fire burning behind those words that Yuuri can’t help but return. Yurio thinks he can beat Yuuri, can challenge Yuuri and come out on top? Well, Yurio can think what he likes, Yuuri hasn’t had a chance to truly showcase what he can do. Victor was right, he’s been pulled down by Vicchans death and by the Cataclysm knocking his world on its ass, no one else had skated through that kind of adversity and still improved. Next season he can show the world what he can  _ really _ do - 

 

“Oh, you utter shit.” Yuuri can’t help it, he’s laughing as Yurio watches him triumphantly. “You did that on purpose didn’t you?”   
  
“Maybe.” A tiny grin and a raised eyebrow accompany the word. “But it worked didn’t it. You’re going to come after me with everything you have, you wouldn’t dare half-ass it this time around. I’ll see you at the GPF, idiot.”

 

“Yeah, I guess you will.” Yuuri laughs again at just how well he’s been played. Yurio might be aggressive and barbed, but he’s confident in a way Yuuri hasn’t been in his skating. 

 

“And you can ask Victor. About me I mean.” He adds on his way out the door, not turning back to gauge Yuuri’s reaction or wait for a reply. 

 

* * *

 

 

Hasetsu beach isn’t much of a tourist attraction, it doesn’t pull droves of people to its sands nor is it particularly pretty in the gloomy April morning light. It’s empty of anyone but Victor and Yuuri, who’re sat side by side on the sand, staring out at the waves as they dance up the beach and retreat again. Yurio had been seen off an hour before, Yuuko and the triplets fussing over him and Victor seeing him off with a jaunty wave and a warning not to come back if he valued Yakov’s sanity. Yurio took his departure well, he even posed for photos before he left with minimal complaining, if Yuuri wasn’t mistaken, Yurio was actually fond of the people he’d met in Hausetsu.

 

“He’s meeting Yakov and Lillia in Tokyo, Yuuri. He’ll be fine.” Victor is watching him warmly, a small smile in place and his fingers tangles over Yuuri’s.

 

“I know, I just…”

 

“Worry. Yes, it’s hard to miss most days.” Victor teases. 

 

“I hope he’ll be alright.”

 

“On the train, or in general?”

 

“Both.” Yuuri grins. “He’s a good kid, even if he has a chip on his shoulder a mile wide.”

 

“I know.” Victor turns back to the waves, deep in contemplation. “I always tried to look out for him, when he was younger, once he came to St Petersburg. He’d just arrived when it happened and he went from being this kid who could light up a room in ten seconds to being so, so angry at the world overnight.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“Yurio didn’t tell you?”

 

“I don’t think he wanted to talk about it, he said to ask you, if I wanted to.”

 

“Yeah, that sounds about right.” Victor’s grin is fond as the wind ruffles his hair. “He never was much of a talker, unless you count trash-talk because then he’s Russia's best!” His smile fades a touch, edges falling as he picks over his memories. The Cataclysm is radiating sadness between them, it’s a weird feeling, a revisited melancholy that is well worn and ruminated. 

 

“When Yurio arrived in St. Petersburg he was this happy buzzing kid, he was excited about everything and he used to ask questions and hang off the older skaters like we were the most important thing in the world. It was cute, he was like everyones little brother. He was fun and sweet and had this smile that you would just cave to if he turned it on you, Yakov used to call him mini-Vitya.” Victor chuckles at the memory. “Then one day, we were running through drills at the time. He used to do drills with me or Georgi, mostly because he thought Georgi was funny and because I went easy on him - when Yakov called us into the office. He’d had a phone call from Yuri’s mother, she was on her way to pick him up, there’d been an accident with his father at work. I didn’t understand it then, but Yurio was terrified, he just kept crying.” Victor’s face twists around the words, the Cataclysm radiating old hurts like open wounds. He swallows, his voice thick as he continues. “I found out later what had happened. Yurio’s father worked for the World Cataclysm Committee, in research, it was an accident they think. One minute he was there and the next he wasn’t. As simple as that. Yurio was never the same after that. They couldn’t hold a funeral, they couldn’t  _ do _ anything.”

 

“That’s… that’s _ awful. _ I can’t even imagine -” Yuuri can feel the sick wrong feeling that bleeds over their connection, the hurt and the sorrow. He gathers Victor to him, pulling him into his side and wrapping him as best he can in warmth and love.

 

“He was  _ eleven _ . Just this tiny kid who was so excited that he was going to train and have fun and then it all got ripped away. His mother, well - she’s not good with life and losing him made it worse, so Yurio took on the weight of earning for his family by the time he was twelve.” Victor frowns at that, offended by the concept of it. “I tried to help, but Yurio just didn’t want me near him. I think he didn’t want to be reminded of it. He was so angry, so furious with the world.”

 

“I can’t imagine…”

 

“No, me either.” Victor pulls out of his arms, shaking his head. “That’s why he was so angry in Sochi, partially. The Cataclysm took so much from him, took his father and then it took me and I guess in some weird way he blamed himself, or me, for it.”

 

It’s so much to take on, this knowledge, the thought of Yurio suffering and that Victor had carried the pain of it for so long, allowing himself to bear the brunt of Yurio’s wrath for the sake of Yurio having a way to function around his grief. The pieces of their relationship click into place, fitting together like a puzzle, and Yuuri wants to run down the train with Yurio on it and sooth away all of the pain. He knows, however, that it wouldn’t help. It wouldn’t work, Yurio isn’t some kid he can mollycoddle and fuss over in that way, he wouldn’t want that, in fact, the only thing Yuuri could possibly do to care for him would be to meet him head-on. Speak to Yurio in a language he knows intimately and inherently.

 

“He challenged me, you know.” Yuuri leans his head on Victor’s shoulder letting his arm snake around Victor’s waist.

 

“He did?” Victor looks down at him, craning to catch his eye.

 

“Yeah, twice now actually.” Yuuri laughs a little at the concept of it. Yurio is a strange kid, a bundle of contradictions, but he’s also incredibly transparent when he wants to be. “The first time was just before the Cataclysm hit, he found me in a bathroom and chewed me out for crying over my loss at the GPF. Then the after you gave him Agape he cornered me again and told me he was going to kick my ass on or off the ice, but on was his preference.” He laughs again, this time at the frustrated noise Victor makes. “Hey, it was actually very effective!”

 

“It was?”

 

“Well, yeah. I mean I can’t allow a fifteen-year-old to chew me out and not prove him wrong!”

 

“Wait, so…” There’s a hitch in Victor’s voice, he sounds so, so hopeful that Yuuri can’t without the bright smile that blossoms up.

 

“So I guess I’m in your care, Coach Vitya, if you think you’re up to it?”

 

“Yuuri!” Victor jumps up, pulling Yuuri with him and into a hug that swings them on the spot. Victor catches him when they halt, kissing his cheeks and lips, grasping his face in both hands and smiling so widely it looks like he’s about to burst. “Oh. Oh, Yuuri! I’m so happy!”

 

“Me too, Vitya.” And he means it, he means it with every inch of his heart and soul. The Cataclysm is at war with itself trying to encompass the raging fire that is their combined happiness and love. Yuuri pays it no mind, he couldn’t, not when Victor pulls him in for another kiss, ardent and sure and so, so in love that Yuuri feels weak with it. The Cataclysm rages on regardless, an unnoticed, unnecessary addition to something they would have found no matter how long or how far their life roads had taken them.

 

They’re Victor and Yuuri. They’re Eros and Agape. They’re Cataclysm partners brought together by the fates, perhaps. 

 

But above all, they’re soulmates.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thats it! The end guys! Thank you all so much for all the comments, kudos and support for this fic and I look forward to hearing from you all on tumblr or twitter!


	12. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we have an epilogue for your reading pleasure...

 

They settle into Hasetsu easily, intuitive as every aspect of their relationship has been since the Cataclysm hit. Phichit and Celestino send their love, along with all of their combined belongings and Makkachin (Who is exuberant the moment they're reunited, torn between kissing Yuuri and Victor and ending up toppling them all to the floor with her bouncing). Danny hands them off to a Japanese representative of the WCC to continue their feedback and care, wishing them luck and sounding a little wistful in his emails as he bids them goodbye. Victor sends him a gift basket and a card signed by his former rink mates, himself, and Yuuri. It takes weeks to organise and send, but the email response is a single image of Danny beaming tearfully with the card clutched to his chest, Victor sets it as his phone background for a week. 

 

In the mornings they warm up outside the onsen, Yuuri running alongside Vitya as he rides down to the rink at a leisurely pace on Yuuri’s old bicycle with Makka bringing up the rear. They skate, Yuuri refining the Eros program to the point that even just striking the opening pose is enough to snap Victor's attention to him in a flash. They work on the blocking for his free program after lunch, trial and error falling away once Yuuri has found the right piece and the skate comes together quickly after that. They take to the springs after training, easing Yuuri’s sore muscles in scalding hot water and they run through their days in the lead up to the Grand Prix in alternating bouts of activity and laziness. 

 

Yurio Skypes them often, asking mostly Yuuri’s opinion on Agape, but always waiting for Victor's comments before he signs off quickly. The triplets spend most of their summer break trailing the pair of them, snapping illicit photos and video and flooding the internet with images of them. It would be cute if not for the insinuations… Yuuri ignores it for the most part, throwing himself into training and leaving the triplets to their mother, who is apoplectic with wrath at their behaviour. 

 

Mari ends up winning the War. She manages to coerce Victor to her side with baby photos and Katsudon and from then on it's basically a free for all. Mari fills in Victor's lacking knowledge of Yuuri facts with a rundown of embarrassing stories about Yuuri’s fanboy days, which Victor will then recite during jump practise and film the reactions to send to Mari. He never stood a chance, really. 

 

But for all that, the summer fades out into autumnal shades of Amber and Brown and Yuuri can squint against it and almost see Gold. His gold, the one he and Victor are gunning for and going to take no matter what. 

 

He's happy. He’s happier than he's ever been in his life, and he relishes in it. 

 

* * *

 

 

It's raining heavily the day the Cataclysm breaks. 

 

It's not the searing and burning that had precluded their connection this time, this time it's like the dropping of threads that fall out of their grasp. It eases away slowly, but firmly, and Yuuri only realises its loss once its too far out of reach to reclaim. 

 

“Yuuri?!” Victor had been making them tea, a pomegranate green blend he'd found in the supermarket and become attached to. He stumbles into the family living room from the kitchen looking perturbed. “Yuuri I - are you okay?”

 

“Uh, yes? I'm as fine as I was five minutes ago when you went to make tea.”

 

“No, somethings wrong.” Victor looks worried, his eyes roaming Yuuri’s face as though looking for signs of physical harm. 

 

“I'm fine, honestly.” He lays a palm on Victor's cheek, confused but mostly wanting to calm Victor. 

 

Nothing happens. 

 

There's no sparks, no blossoming warmth across their connection, no Victor bleeding into his consciousness. It's just… Gone. He sees the moment Victor realises it, the widening of his eyes and the shock that drops his jaw. He sees it, but for the first time he can't feel it. 

 

“Oh. Oh, Vitya. No, please don't -” His words come too late though, a single tear rolls down Victor's warm cheek, caught by Yuuri's fingers still pressed there. Yuuri can't help the tears that well up in response. 

 

“No. Yuuri. Not you too.” Victor’s voice is shaking and he tries for a laugh all the same. It's so  _ Victor _ , trying to smile through this, to laugh in the face of loss that Yuuri's tears fall faster. “Hey, no. Not crying.”

 

“You're crying, why can't I cry too?” Yuuri doesn't mean to sound so defensive, but the words are out of his mouth before he can help it and he waits for Victor to recoil, to turn away from him. Instead Victor laughs again, reedy and pitched entirely wrong, but he laughs. 

 

“It's okay, it's okay. We'll be okay.” Victor whispers the words, gathering Yuuri to him and burying his face against Yuuri's neck. 

 

They stay like that, nothing holding them together but the strength of their clutching hands on each other, no Cataclysm or otherworldly power holding them up. Just Victor and Yuuri, holding onto each other because that's all they know to do now. 

 

* * *

 

 

The WCC announces the cessation of the Cataclysm that evening, it's splashed across every website and broadcast over every channel like a victory cry. 

 

Victor and Yuuri don't see any of the footage, after they pulled themselves together enough to function they'd received a phone call from their case worked in Japan, a personality-less suit Victor had take an immediate dislike to, who had asked them if their connection was still in place. The moment they’d answered the guy had thanked them quickly and rung off, leaving them staring at Yuuri's phone in distaste. They'd gone to bed after that, needing the closeness that was almost enough to fill the void that had opened up between them. 

 

They don't sleep, they talk. They talk about inconsequential things, like whether Yuuko has managed to pry the triplets away from their phones long enough to get them to eat today, or how Phichit is doing in Bangkok. They're touching all the while, tiny reassurances that the other is still there, and real, and listening. That they're still together even if there is nothing to keep them from blowing asunder but the force of their combined love. 

 

Yuuri dozes off, fingers clasped around Victor's waist and face against the skin of his neck, he dreams of Victor, but it isn't  _ Victor _ . He welcomes the brash ringing of his cellphone that pulls him from his faux dream. Shaking himself free of it, he answers the call without checking the screen. 

 

“Are you okay???”

 

“Yurio?” Yuuri struggles out of Victor’s grasp, rubbing at his eyes tiredly to clear away some of the lingering dream. 

 

“Answer the question!” Yurio barks, sounding panicky.

 

“I'm fine, we're fine. Yurio, what…”

 

“Victor didn't answer his phone.” Yurio sounds so small and so scared that Yuuri’s heart aches. 

 

“We fell asleep. We're both fine, Victor's right here. Are you okay?” He knows he sounds overly placating, but the worry in Yurio’s tone is setting off alarm bells. They should have thought of this, should have at least text Yurio to assure him, but they’d been so wrapped up in themselves it hadn’t occurred to them. 

 

“Yes, yeah, I just… I heard about the Cataclysm dropping and thought - I don’t know. I was worried.” 

 

“Yeah I can hear that, I’m so sorry Yuri, we should have thought…” Victor rolls over in his sleep, slinging an arm over Yuuri’s thighs. “I’m sorry, it happened so fast that we were just kind of shocked by it. I hope you can forgive us.”

 

“What the hell are you talking about idiot! Forgive you? I’m just glad you’re both okay for fuck-”

 

“Language Yurio!” It’s an automatic response, but he can practically hear the eyeroll he’s earned for it.

 

“For  _ Gods _ sake.” Yurio says petulantly.

 

“Better.” Yuuri grins to his phone, no one can see it, but it’s the first smile he’s managed since the Cataclysm dropped and it warms him. “You okay though?”

 

“Yeah.” Yurio pauses for a second then blurts out. “You and Victor are staying together though right?”

 

“Yes, Yuri. Of course we are.” There’s a sigh of relief that’s so sweet that Yuuri wishes he could just fly to Russia and hug the kid, but the moment is short lived. Yurio is back to his usual annoyed self within seconds.

 

“Good because I’m not having you turn up at the Grand Prix looking like you’re about to burst into tears on the ice - unless its because I kick your ass of course, then you can totally look like you’re going to cry.”

 

“Oh yeah? And who’s to say it won’t be me kicking your ass, Yurio?”

 

“I’ll believe it when I see it Katsudon!”

 

“Sure thing, Yurio. I’ll see you there okay?”

 

“Yeah, and bring your idiot boyfriend or whatever you’re calling each other these days.”

 

“Well we’re working through British pet names this week so he’s my sweetheart -” Yuuri laughs when the line goes very suddenly dead, considering texting Yurio a list of hideous pet names for the sake of trolling him. He decides against it, but considers using it as a failsafe if Yurio is too much of  pain in the ass over the next few weeks. 

 

Now wide awake and with a very sleeping Victor making for terrible company, Yuuri does something he hasn’t been able to do for nearly a year. He slips from the sheets, pulling on his workout clothes and grabbing his skate bag on his way out of the door. He leaves Victor a note on his empty pillow, informing him of his late night excursion, hoping Victor won’t be too upset at him for going.

 

The rink is dark when he arrives, the hour so late that he's negotiating the way by emergency lighting, not wanting to waste the time to stop and locate all of the main rooms switches. He heads a straight for the ice, the nights run having warmed every muscle sufficiently. The chill air is like fire in his lungs, burning away the loss and once he's safely tied into his skates, he takes to the rink ready to forge anew. 

 

He skates his compulsory figures, ruminating, considering. 

 

The Cataclysm is gone, lost forever to the ether, but it means nothing really, does it? Six months ago, maybe longer, Yuuri would have been panicking and worrying. Wondering if Victor would jump onto the next flight to St. Petersburg and rejoin the Russian team. Now Yuuri isn't even considering that an option, now he knows what their future holds. 

 

Cataclysm or no Cataclysm, Victor is his. Not because Yuuri is forcing him to stay, not from some misplaced loyalty or enforced debt, but because Victor wants to be his.  _ Chose _ to be his. They had been thrown together; been tried and tested by the boundaries of the Cataclysm, and by the boundaries of their personal demons. They had been weighed and measured by their experiences and they had found balance between them. 

 

Losing the Cataclysm was nothing, really. It was the end of a chapter in the book of their lives, yes, but the story continues regardless. 

 

He moves into the centre of the ice, head bowed and waiting for the right moment. He inhales, centering himself, and then begins. The movements are familiar and comforting, a throwback to the days before the Cataclysm ever pervaded his life and sent his world careening onto a different axis. Before the Cataclysm he had spent weeks rewatching YouTube videos, making notes, slipping into the facility in Detroit and practicing over and over until every movement was cemented in his muscle memory. Now he falls into the program as though it's a lovers arms, comforting in its familiarity, revelling in the warmth he feels as he lets each gesture flow into the next. Its soothing and calming to his soul, he thinks, like reconnecting with an old friend.  He’s lost in the program, letting it spill from in in ways he hadn’t dared under Victor’s scrutiny. It’s a love letter to his fanboy self, a remembering of what he had been before the Cataclysm had tossed him through it’s choppy waves, and most of all it is a call to Victor. A beacon of his love, shining in the rinks lights as he wraps his arms about his shoulders and holds the finishing pose, his breath catching.

 

He knows the silence being broken is inevitable, but Victor’s voice still takes him by surprise as he cries, “Yuuri!” over the sound of Yuuri’s panting breaths.

 

“Yuuri, that was beautiful! It was astonishing!” Victor is waiting at the rink entrance with his arms outstretched. The moment Yuuri skates to him, her wraps him in a tight embrace. “I won Gold with that program, but if the world could see you skate it they’d give the medal to you instead.”

 

“Don’t be silly, Vitya. I was just messing around.” His face warms at the compliment though, Victor’s Stammi Vicino was lauded as the pinnacle of elegance during the last skating season.

 

“If that’s your  _ messing around _ I can’t wait to see you get serious.” Victor grins.

 

“Well, you don’t have long to wait. Cup of China will be here in no time.” 

 

“True, and we’ll get to see Phichit and Chris! Do you think we can talk them into a night out?” 

 

“Oh please no, the last time we did that I was hungover for two days and suffering serious cockblock.”

 

“I think you’ll find that your hangover was the cockblock darling.” Victor tells him cheerfully, as if he didn’t already know. Victor had cheerfully informed him of the fact that he’d been pining for weeks after their impromptu make-out session, he’d been incredibly put out by the fact, really. Yuuri had just laughed at the time, telling him that good things came to those who waited, and wasn’t it just an  _ excellent _ thing that Yuuri had no gag reflex. Victor had stopped accusing him of being a tease after that particular conversation.

 

“Okay, point, but also you know they’re terrible influences on each other and Phichit can  _ drink _ in China. It’s a recipe for disaster.”

 

“Sound like a recipe for fun to me, but fine. I won’t suggest it… but if they happen to  _ offer _ .” Victor gives him a cheeky grin and Yuuri sighs heavily in defeat, letting his head fall to Victor’s shoulder when he’s off the ice and back in Victor’s arms.

 

“It really doesn’t matter, does it?” Victor says, dropping a kiss to his hairline. “Not having the Cataclysm connection. It makes no difference to us, really.”

 

Yuuri pulls out of Victor’s embrace, smiling softly. “It doesn’t. It can’t. I don’t know why we were thrown together, I don’t know if there was some grand plan or if it was a fluke, but I know that with or without it we work.”

 

“Yeah, we do, don’t we.” Victor is smiling too, eyes soft. “No matter what, we’re together.”

 

Yuuri’s heart swells, thumping hard against his ribs as he leans in to kiss Victor softly. It’s his own heart, and his own warmth, but the contented sigh that is breathed into his lips is confirmation that Victor is feeling the same. Yuuri doesn’t need a Cataclysm, nor any mystical energy to know that the press of Victor’s thumb under his jaw and the way Victor’s arm snakes around his waist means they’re in for an interesting night.

 

Cataclysm or no, they’re together forever, intertwined more thoroughly than the ties that had bound them. Yuuri knows now, that there’s no force more important than that of an equal and mutual love, maintained by the flow of trust and affection, or Eros and Agape.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's that! All finished! 
> 
> Ngl I'm really emotional about publishing the last part of this universe. This fic took me a year of fighting and wrangling to get out, and tested the patience of pretty much everyone who I ever spoke to about it.
> 
> I want to thank a few people who have encouraged and helped me along the way to finishing and publishing this fic. First place has to go to Maja, who accidentally outed me for writing and encouraged me to continue, along with her partner in crime Alexis. Mara, who read every word and sent memes to kick my ass into finishing it. Sachi who used his beta peepers and was equal parts confused and ded from tense arguments.
> 
> The two Sophie's get a special mention, they both gave me emotional support when my confidence was at it's lowest and I was convinced it was a worthless effort.
> 
> Em, Izz, Mo, Rimi and Al did a whole hunk of cheerleading and kicking my ass with emoji's whenever I couldn't find the right words to tell this story. And every nerd in the Bedtime server (You know who you are you bloody weirdos) who has listened to me whine, has yelled at me, or has actively engaged in pineapple/mermaid/elf discourse, I love you guys so much it's nerdy and unreal.
> 
> I want to say thank you to every person who read this, commented, kudosed, and subscribed. The reception for this fic has been amazing and I'm still overwhelmed by the positivity and just how lovely you all are. You're awesome and I'm still shook over how much you all like my dorky fic. If you haven't already come say hi on tumblr, I'm a good eggle and don't bite!
> 
> Thank you so much, I'll be back once more with Tree-elf Vitya and his adventures with Hunter Yuuri xoxo

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you guys for reading, and for tuning in for chapter one! I've got 80% of the fic finished and polished, so i'll be updating regularly and hopefully you'll tell me what you think!
> 
> And as always you can find me on Tumblr as [@topcatnikki](https://topcatnikki.tumblr.com/)


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